


Parasites

by PAW_07



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Forced Upgrades, Hacking, Latrophobia, Medical Trauma, Neglect, Scorponok is like a Cute Puppy that can Kill People, Starvation, Younglings, drones, parental figures, robot gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PAW_07/pseuds/PAW_07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunger. Everything in the universe is driven by hunger in one form or another. Be it the hunger for food, love, forgiveness, placement … or life. Scorponok is hungry, and he’ll do anything to survive. So, it is easy to say, it is a bad day to be an Autobot. </p><p>Halfway across the galaxy … Hot Rod can't help but agree, Simmons just thinks they all are idiots, and Kup is just too old to deal with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Desert

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wiik E.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Wiik+E.).



It gnaws and rips and begs and pleads,

A river always needing within me.

I try to ignore its whimpers and cries,

But I cannot dismiss this hunger inside.

...

The sands shifted, like melting snow, falling to the whim and wear of the wind. It was a shimmering painting of endless brown, almost alive. The hills of the desert were certainly a sight to behold, at least to Scorponok. Its soft whispering and shifting sands had comforted him for the past two weeks ever since he had found his Master in a pool of his own energon.

_The world had fallen to a plague of gunfire. Buildings were falling to the earth with nothing but death in mind, taking life of mech and human alike while leaving pools of life fluids to drip down like rivers into the sewage systems. Yet, in the chaos of failing sparks and rotting human hearts, one figure rushed through the sewage systems caring little that blood was pooling atop his head every time he passed a manhole. He had only one obstacle in mind: to find his master. He had to find Blackout if it was the last thing to be accomplished by the beating little spark in his chest._

_It didn’t take long for the bond to his master to whisper in the back of his mind: this way._

_He listened to the connection with almost a chipper breath, but suddenly stopped, the sewage waters swishing at his sudden stillness. His symbiotic connection with Blackout abruptly wavered and then it snapped; a horrible backlash suddenly slammed into the Con’s mind, the copter's last painful moments thrusting themselves through the link as if begging the smaller being to help it hold onto life. Scorponok was too overwhelmed to do anything and was quickly cast into a world of darkness and murky waters, his dreams were of energon pooling down into the sewers and Blackout petting his head._

_By the time the drone was able to rouse himself a few hours later, he found that his master had not been petting him on the head, but water had been dripping down from the world above._

_There was also a pain in his chassis, an emptiness._

_A part of him wanted to drown himself in the disgusting waters around him because he had felt this loss before, many times, but he had to see. He had to, even if it would haunt him for the remainder of his days like so many masters before. He had to say goodbye to Blackout; his loyal and surprisingly kind master._

_Twilight had started to drown the city by the time the drone had found himself crawling to the surface like a hungry rat. It didn’t take him long to find his loyal master, a ghostly silence whispering the way. It was empty around his owner’s corpse, Blackout’s form on his belly like a gutted fish. The scorpion-like drone was still for a moment, his optics dragging over the form, looking over the damage and for signs of life. Perhaps his master was still alive? Perhaps he was only playing?_

_The clicking of many limbs filled the empty street, and soon the drone was inches form Blackout’s outstretched hand. Despite his ache, the drone chirped first as if saying, “Wake up, I’m here.” Blackout remained still. The drone tilted its head and then suddenly lashed out with one of his claws touching the copter in his midsection; Blackout hated being poked._

_There was still no movement._

_Scorponok wilted on his many legs, the truth starting to set in. Slowly, as if he were a dying dog, the drone drew nearer to his master’s hand. The symbiot softly rubbed his head against the hand, begging his master to get up._

_He did not get to mourn his master._

_Soon a crane and a truck pulled into the sanctity of his mourning grounds, and the drone was forced back underground into the filth of the sewers. It didn’t take long to decide, as he watched the humans cruelly drag his master’s body away, that if he was going to die on this mud ball, he’d do so in the desert. It so reminded him of home; the great rust deserts._

Though, it is amazing how persuasive hunger can be … especially when it comes to you.

The Con dug his back legs a little deeper into the sand as the thought made both his tank and his spark ache. They had taken his master away, these Autobots. They had taken the only thing in the universe that was even of a mild importance. There was no doubt in his CPU that they’d try to take his life as well. It was just a matter of time, but Primus knows how dangerous he could be when he was hungry.

...

Scorponok sat there with his optics barely above the sands, like a crocodile in the waters. He was watching. He was waiting and sizing up each Autobot to see which would make a good host, not even minding the NEST agents. There were four of them in total. The medic with a bad attitude; the fire happy Weapon’s Specialists; the yellow youngling and a grey sharp shooter. Thankfully, there wasn't a scientist in the group. Ugh, he hated Autobot scientists. They were always trying to get their servos on a symbiotic drone to try and understand the connection they formed with their host. They wanted to break it. The close-minded fools thought symbiots were only a Deception thing, and that it was a form of slavery.

Pff. Slavery. For whom? That honestly depended on how docile said drone was. Usually, symbiotic relationships were mutual, but it was not unheard of to have a symbiot forced into a partnership or, for a starving drone, to force themselves on a holder. The latter was usual since the partnership would be unstable, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Scorponok had gone past the desperate stage.

He needed to feed or deactivate. Deactivation had seemed soothing at first with the loss of his long companion, but he had a feeling that Blackout cared for him far too much to wish such a thing on him. He’d live if only to punish one of these Autobots for what they had done to him, for taking _HIS_ Blackout.

Now, only to choose which one it should be. The Weapon’s Specialist was defiantly out of the question. He was too dangerous, and Scorponok would probably be shot before he could even drill his tail anywhere near the main systems.

The medic was bulky, so he would be a nice candidate, given that he’d probably have trouble getting Scorponok off his back. He was a medic though … Scorponok didn’t know much about medics, Con medics were rare, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the crafty healer would find a way to kickback a forced feeding and merge.

The gunner was small and probably limber, but that meant little in the sands of the deserts. Metal still sank, so the drone knew he’d have an easy time catching the small grey being. His armor was probably thinner then the medic’s as well and probably easier to overpower. Yes, he was an excellent candidate despite being small and young. He might even have a caretaker still.

Yet there was the yellow youngling, Bumble-slag or whatever it was. He was about the same size as the gunner, but a little younger … dumber to the ways of the world. He’d be an easy catch as well and probably had thinner armor as well.

Hmm … well, he had three choices. Whoever strayed the farthest from the group first was fine with him. He needed to feed. He could deal with the consequences _later_.

…

Ratchet grumbled to himself as he fell to one knee once again. This was the sixth time he’d slipped on the slopes of the sand.

Watching, Scorponok tilted his head in sadness. The grumbling of the green mech strangely reminded him of Blackout when he had first been introduced to Earth’s desert. All he did was grumble, whine, moan, and hiss about how much he hated it … that was until he saw just how graceful his partner was beneath the waves of the sand.

True, the medic was that _horrid_ green color, nowhere near as charming as Blackout’s paint job, but he was a medic not a military build. Now, he didn’t know a lot about medics being that he was always repaired by his hosts, but he could tell just by looking at the green mech: he kept himself and his internals clean. He was a good clean meal. Scorponok’s internals slammed violently against his armor at the thought, praying almost for him to eat sand to at least end the echoing in his innards.

Well, the medic was _alone_.

Ratchet finally managed to get his foot loose and stood there a moment, glaring at the sand as if expecting it to yip and crawl away from his ire. When the sand did not retreat, the medic stood on one foot and tried to shake his ped in order to rid himself of the sand in his joints. A surprised yip escaped the CMO as his other foot sank into the loose earth up to his knee joint. With a growl, Ratchet tried to pull out his leg with a hard tug. This action merely made him lose his balance, and he fell face first into the sands.

An angry roar of the engine filled the silent sands a klick later and the medic started thrashing about like an angry toddler until he was on both of his knees and out of the sand, engine panting.

“Fragging sand. I’ll kill Prowl next time I see him. Send me to make sure there are no injuries my aft. He’ll regret his next virus update. _Regret_.”

The medic’s engine finally stopped overheating, and the mech was able to rise to his feet again. Yet, just as he predicted, the foot he put most of his weight on sank a few inches into the sand. A sigh escaped the irritated Autobot and this time he decided that perhaps a fit wasn’t the best way to go about the problem. Slowly, he knelt down on one knee and started to push the sands away from his trapped foot. Slow and steady wins the race after all.

The scorpion-shaped drone’s optics blinked for a moment, focusing on the mech before him. Then, with the speed that no organic tunnel-digger could hope to manage, he was digging through the sand towards the mech. Yet he did not jump up like a jack-in-the-box when he reached his destination. Instead, he started to shift sands away from the medic’s underground base.

A yelp escaped the CMO when all of a sudden his whole form dropped farther into the earth by about five feet. Ratchet was still for a moment, his CPU trembling at the thought of being stuck in quicksand. He soon realized that was not the case. He was not sinking any further. With a grumbled, his earlier digging continued.

The scorpion was still for a few klicks, feeling the vibrations of digging fingers start once more. He was worried for a moment there. He had miscalculated the mech’s weight and the medic fell sooner than he had thought he would. In fact, he almost stepped on him! A soft hiss of disgust escaped the drone before he dived a little deeper into the earth below his would-be host. The mech might have had a weak spot in his back, but he was still rather maneuverable for one of his size. It was best to trap his new master in the sand up to his waist. It would make his first feeding and program downloads easier.

Especially the programs.

It was probably not a well known fact amongst Autobots, being that they had no drones, but even if a symbiot were able to take a mech down and drill open a port for feeding, he’d still starve if he wasn’t able to hack the mech’s systems. That’s why forced bonds were so dangerous. Even if a drone had all the wires in the right spots, if his host’s systems didn’t know what to do or thought the uplink a threat, starvation would still follow.

He refused to starve.

This time, while moving the sands, the drone knew when the mech was about to give way and was out of the way as the medic fell the last few needed feet so he was properly trapped. Well, with that finished, it was time for some hacking. The scorpion-drone quickly moved like a rising air bubble right behind Ratchet’s back. Slowly, the mech to busy grumbling about his current predicament, a scorpion-like metallic tail started to rise above the sands. A pointed tip gradually emerged from the tail’s tip, a drill tip folding to the front like a second skin.

Then, sick of his hunger, the tail pulled itself backwards, ready to strike, the medic stilling as a clicking sound came to his audios. Yet, he was not fast enough in turning his head to see what laid in wait right behind –

“Yo Ratchet! Quit playing in the sand!”

Ratchet’s head quickly turned in the direction of the voice, a huge Top kick suddenly coming over a sand dune. Yet, despite now having some assistance, his gaze fell back behind him. _Nothing._

“What you looking at, sand digger?” mocked the black mech as he transformed.

Ratchet slowly turned back to his companion, servo reaching out for assistance, the medic said, “I just thought I heard something.”

...

At night things in the desert seemed to come to life, enjoying the cool kiss of the darkness. Well, most of the nocturnal creatures of the desert that is. Scorponok though, he was stewing. He had missed his chance with the medic. True, he might have been able to take on the Top Kick, but the medic then would be introduced to his presence and would be shooting at him before he could even hope to latch onto his back.

The scorpion-drone sank a little lower into the sand, scaring away a snake that had been hiding near him for the heat his engine was giving off.

Primus. He wasn’t going to last much longer like this. His pump was starting to make this clicking-stalling noise. It seemed that, perhaps, he would be getting his earlier wish for deactivation with his master. Even if he did have the energy for a few more days, he wouldn’t have the strength to actually attack a larger mech.

He was going to starve … wasn’t he?

Yet, despite his midnight brooding, a vibration shivered though the sands like a hand petting down his back. The drone pushed against said sand and popped his head up in order to see what was above him. His spark skipped a beat. He had one last chance. One _chance_. Perhaps overpowering his opponent wasn’t the only answer here. After all, some jobs called for tactical thinking over superior strength.

Bluestreak’s grey form danced over a dune. He was heading over to the NEST base, the new organization they were being matched up with. He was ready to report to Optimus and their new human companions. It had been estimated that, due to the time limit for most drones without a ‘parent’ fuel source, that Scorponok was probably deactivated. They would need a team with metal detectors to skim this area of the desert. Apparently, as stated by an observation Ratchet had made from sinking up to his waist into the sand, there was a large amount of sand disturbed underneath the sand dunes. It was far too deep to merely be the wind and far too thick to be a normal animal.

The gunner didn’t know if he should be either happy about this news or sad. He didn’t know much about drones, personally. For him they seemed to be something like pets, but other Autobots told him they were just mindless killing assistants; they’d have to be for being with the Deceptions. To Blue, there seemed to be more to the story than that. It just seemed to him that these mindless drones were just too … spirited. He hadn’t fought one directly in battle, but from his observations in his sniping, the little things seem to cherish their owners. They’d even die for them.

The mech pushed the thought to the back of his CPU. He could dwell on that later. Right now, he had to focus on whatever was in the sand before him. There weren't any honest to Primus roads out here.

Slowly, the gunner inched closer to what looked like metallic scrap in the sand. His engine almost stalled for a moment when his headlights reflected off the glass of a dead … optic. There was no denying it. It was Scorponok.

Quickly transforming and bringing out his gun, the mech made his way carefully towards the still figure. Yet, the closer he drew to the downed being, the more lax he became. Soon, he stood above the deactivated drone, his scanners telling him a simple truth. There was virtually no energy left in the little form. He had starved.

“Poor thing,” whispered the grey gunner, his door wings drooping. Yes, he knew that was a dumb thing to say, to have such soft-sparked thoughts. After all this was war. But, despite that truth, he found himself kneeling down on one knee and patting the droid in an almost loving way. “There, there. Soon you’ll be with your master. Now, let’s see who can help me.”

But, just as the gunner readied himself to comm his companions, the ‘dead’ droid suddenly sprang to life tail whipping around the young mech's neck and pulling him face first into the earth. Then, with a twist of sand, the scorpion-droid was on the Autobot’s back, tail raised high into the air ready to bow to the earth and into the gunner’s back.

Yet, before the drone could even hope to insert into the other’s back, he felt the gunner’s systems start to heat up and his pump wail as the grey mech started to thrash in order to get his body away from his attacker. The drone had forgotten the heat of a host, the heat of a healthy engine _full_ of energon. The scorpion transformer tried to keep equilibrium despite the thrashing body below him. He had to inject correctly the first time or risk killing the new host. It was a necessity that he still his host’s movements in order to download the necessary host programs so he could feed. Yes, the first few weeks would be messy, being that his new caretaker’s form would be recalibrating in order to provide for two and not just one, but he’d feed heartily compared to the last month that he had been starving.

The grey mech suddenly stilled when he heard something hum that wasn’t a gun. It sounded … like a drill. Before the limber sharpshooter could do more than peak over his shoulder, he saw the drone’s tail rise into the air, tip spinning like a mine drill, and the next thing he knew he had collapsed onto the ground entirely with a gurgled scream. There was the sound of cracking metal like a building falling to its knees, and a warm spurt of fluid suddenly exploding over his innards and down his back like boiling water from a geyser. It seemed that the little monster was twisting his inner wiring like cotton candy to a stick until the plastic tubing could take no more pressure, thrusting coolant and other liquids into the gunner’s chest. It then shorted out chips and overloaded pain receptors. Then there was something else. The little parasite was not only drilling into him physically, but into his mind as well … cutting off any chance of using his comms.

Blue was about to throw out another blood wrenching scream as well as distress signal. Instead, he felt one of the drone's claws yank itself none to gently from his pinned shoulder and slam his head into the sands, muffling his agony and any silent cry for help as foreign systems invaded his own. The young mech soon found himself flailing at this point, digging into the sands with his fingers in order to try and make a desperate escape. True, the drilling had stopped and his automated system was already trying to heal … but the invading appendage was still in there! Plus, the drone’s mental attacks were getting stronger and stronger. Bluestreak knew he had to get away. He had to get away now!

Scorponok felt the tenseness in his body slowly loosen. His new host’s struggles were growing weaker and weaker by the klick. He was giving into his new stance readily, except for the host program. It had to be accepted so he could properly feed, but the fraggin gunner’s firewalls were persistent despite being horribly outdated. Perhaps, he just needed a little … jolt.

Bluestreak found himself wishing he had tears to shed, because he wanted to drown in them. He had no idea what was going on except that he had been attacked by Blackout’s drone, which was now in his back, trying to hack into his system. It wanted something, but what? He wasn’t a top officer. What could he possibly have that the monster wanted? What could be –

A jolt slammed into his systems, probably from one of the drone's weapons, stalling all thoughts… and firewalls.

The battle was done.

Scorponok’s engine purred as he felt his new host’s movement’s start to stall, his engine struggling to repair, yet his CPU still fought to remain awake. True, he himself was exhausted, but soon he’d get to feed and indulge in the memories of his new master soon. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad. He’d be able to explore the other mech’s memories freely … and be able to wander away from the memory of Blackout’s destruction.

But first … the last hurtle.

Bluestreak’s vocalizer was only allowed a pathetic squeak into the sands as one more jolt of electricity was sent through his systems, his optics offlining and his body going limp. The drone merely shivered in relief as the programs started to download into his new host while some needed nourishment traveled upward towards him. As the energy lapped over his system, Scorponok found himself oddly content and quickly curled up on top of his new master, his engine starting to fall into a soft recharge. He wasn’t worried. Even if the Autobot did wake up before him, he knew this ‘Bluestreak’ wouldn’t kill him nor rat him out. After all, only Decepticon’s had drones.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wiik E., the reader that originally requested this, sure is my kind of reader. She seems to think the same way I do. She wants a story about the less observed characters. She even gave me two ideas of what she wanted her gift fic to be about. I like them both, but for now I’ll concentrate on this one. Don’t be too surprised to see a fic about Fred from Armada in the future though.
> 
> Also, you Scorponok fans, if you liked this I recommend Replacement and Replacement: Roads by Dragon of Despair. Then there’s the short drabble, Vigil by CasusFere, that made me fall in love with Scorpy to begin with. Both are on fanfiction.net. These two writers heavily impacted me and my belief about the drone. Hope you enjoyed.


	2. Youngling Troubles

It had not been a surprise, _really it hadn’t_ , when Scorponok was woken from a well needed recharge by a strangling cry, his body suddenly being smacked off of a warm surface. Lying on his back, half buried in the sand, and more than a little grumpy that his new master had just thrown him aside, the drone just laid there on his back for a moment, his many legs up in the air like a dead bug. He listened patiently to his new fuel source panic and scooted as far from him as he could. Slowly, with an irritated whine, Scorponok used his tail to do a power flip, and he was quickly to his many feet and looking at his new master.

His new host wasn’t much to look at, shivering and sniveling like a lost sparkling. He was even trying to crane backwards and see what had been done to his back. Scorponok didn’t see why. The host’s systems were rather well off and healing nicely now that his systems knew what the hole was for. Besides, the port was well hidden between the two wing-like extensions on his master’s back, and in time a plate would arrange itself over it after his next transformation to alt mode. No one would be able to tell the difference; except Scorponok that is, being it was his fuel source.

Unfortunately, now completely seeing the Autobot’s form in the sunlight, it seemed he wouldn’t get to hang onto his host like he usual did. True, there was the whole ‘Autobots don’t like drones’ thing anyway, but there was also the fact that his new master was obviously a youngling. His joints were still easily damaged from large amounts of weight if carried for too long, especially since he hadn’t yet gotten all of frame upgrades. Those upgrades would be nice when they eventually came, seeing as grey partner might be large enough to piggyback on, but the whole youngling thing … that was going to suck. He’d never had a partner that was younger than him. Of course, he’d never had an Autobot partner either.

The scorpion-bot made a ckrrr-ing noise finally attracting the Autobot’s attention from the once-wound on his back. Well, he just as well’s make introductions.

Blue just sat there, his fingers still trying to feel what had been done to him, but now he realized … that the drone was still there. He hadn’t merely drill a hole in his back and left him there to die. No, it was just sitting there silently with a bored look in its optics as if it were waiting for something. What-what was going on here? Primus, his back hurt, every system hurt as if his insides had been rearranging themselves as he rested, his spark was even acting strange, and there were hundreds of commands popping up on his hub asking for acceptance. Wh-why did he have these new programs? Hadn’t the little monster been trying to steal information, not implant it?

Wait … programs had been uploaded? Did-did the drone implant a part of himself?

A sickness suddenly came over the gunner as he read the command requests. No it couldn’t, there was no way, only-only Decepticon’s had _drones_. That’s what every last acceptance message was about. They were for new programs for his … drone.

The gunner lurched forward, his hand slipping over his mouth as the contents in his tank lurched upward as the realization hit him. _He had a drone_. Autobots didn’t have drones! Could he even call himself an Autobot anymore? The mech suddenly couldn’t keep his tank still and his system lurched upward, forcing the energon out of his tank, over his denta, and through his fingers. The youth struggled to keep the rest of the contents that weren’t dripping through his fingers down, yet it was not meant to be. The tremors kept slamming into his abdominal region and with a gurgling sound of a sputtering engine, Bluestreak fell forward onto his hands and knees. Soon, a choking sputtering noise filled the desert’s landscape, the grey mech releasing the contents of his tank again.

What a waste of good energon. That was all that the symbiot thought as he watched the blue glowing liquid drip into the sand and disappear into nothing more than a wet spot. He didn’t blame his new master though. Half of his insides were slowly rearranging themselves. It had to be disorienting and probably painful. Suddenly feeling bad, the drone to see if he could comfort his new master. When Blackout had taken him in, Scorponok had sent a comforting effecting through the bond. It relaxed the spark and forcing the new host’s mind elsewhere. But first he had to get closer. The bond was far too young for him to do such a thing without nearly being on top of his master or plugging in.

Crawling forward, a good deed in mind, the drone gained his master’s gaze again. He chirp in wonder, but only got a frightened whine from the youngling.

“G-get away,” cried the youth as he scrambled, grab something out of the sand, and threw a rock at the scorpion being. The drone dodged it, of course. Despite himself, a whine escaped the grey mech at this, and he hurriedly tried to crawl up a sand dune and away from his un-welcomed partner, a sobbing noise escaped his engine the whole time.

Scorponok merely rubbed his claws together in confusion as he tilted his head. That had not been what he was expecting when his new host would eventually wake up. Yes, distress would be normal for a forced uplink, but this was far beyond that. He was picking up fear from the growing connection between them. This was not the normal fear of confusion: like why his body was acting funny, why he wasn’t dead, why his spark felt odd, or why he was being followed by a scorpion-mech about a third of his size. No, his new host and master was scared of something else … it almost felt like the fear one feels about deactivating.

Why would his small master be thinking such a thing? Scorponok was going to protect him, and Bluestreak would protect him in return. It was perhaps a forced symbiotic uplink, but it was still symbiotic in nature.

With a whirl of his tail, the confused drone dived into the earth following not only the rhythmic beat through the young and frail connection but the sound of heavy footsteps as well.

…

Scorponok did not rise to greet the afternoon air.

His new host was greatly stressed and being that the connection was still too immature, he couldn’t ask directly what his master was upset about. He would merely have to observe what the cause of this distress was for now. That was always a big problem with finding a new host. As a drone, Scorponok didn’t have the ability to speak, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t sentient like so many Autobots liked to believe when they were shooting at him. He could communicate … only through a bond link. So, his communication was limited to one other being, but this was a symbiotic relationship. Why did he need to talk to anyone else?

And so he observed.

A few klicks passed without many events occurring: a scorpion stung at one of his legs when he had moved to quickly, his master say nothing, the sun rose a little higher in the sky, his master still has nothing, the temperature rose to sweltering temperatures, and still the youth had not uttered a word. If anything, the youngling continued to chirp listlessly until his systems started hiccupping from stress, causing the youth to stop and merely sit there while staring at the sand beneath his fingers.

Nothing was revealed of Bluestreak’s distress and that left the drone downcast. He was hoping to win a little favor with his new master after comforting him from whatever was causing the added stress to the Autobot’s new situation. There had not been one name cursed, one thing screamed at, or even one death threat to any person. His master was silent in his sorrows. Scorponok wilted at this … were Autobots always so quiet when they were mad? He used to love to watch his old caretakers swear up a fit. _Well_ … unless it had to do with him.

A soft click escaped the worried drone and Scorponok made his ways over to his master, pushing as much comfort as he could though the weak bond. In exchange, the youth let out a soft sob of agony, his crying returned. His cries now mixed with words as he glared at the drone.

“W-why? I don’t w-want to be scrap-ped. I-I-I-I don’t want t-to be used for spare parts … not again,” whimpered the small mech as he pulled his knees into his chest, his door wings falling as a memory thrust itself through the fledgling bond.

_It was pooling … pooling everywhere. It was so warm, like-like energon. It was spilling upon the earth in gallons it seemed. It was getting everywhere … and it was on him. Wh-whose energon was this? Who was injured? He was the only one around. He was … a sharp pain finally ran up Bluestreak’s form and he looked down. It was his energon. W-where had his legs gone?_

The memory ran through Scorponok like hot irons and he couldn’t help but cringe backwards like he had just been hit. The first memory they had shared through the bond and it was so painful. It was not unheard of for young mechs to become traumatized from experiences with severe injury. Some would even become frightened of every injury that followed. A Decepticon would die quickly if he didn’t get over a fear like that being that they did a lot of their own repairs. Of course weak Autobot sentiments had likely mother-henned the young after his injury and now he was scared of his own wounds.

Shaking off the thought, Scorponok decided he’d deal with it when it came to that, but first he needed to calm his young handler down.

Taking a gasp of cool air into his vents, the drone headed forward. He was probably going to get hit or even kicked once or twice, but he had a feeling that the Autobot would be a lot more gentle about his new situation than if he had forced it on a Con. Pulling himself up to his master, he stilled waiting for the pain.

Nothing came. The youngling just continued to bawl into his legs.

Chirping softly, Scorponok grew more daring and walked a circle around his master. No reaction. Chirping again and rubbing his claws together as if asking permission, he drew closered. When nothing but more wailing escaped the new master, the drone laid down, and wrapped his tail around his master’s body as well as he could in the sand.

The grey mech flinched at the sudden touch, now staring in almost a frightened manner down at his new drone. A rather loud whine escaped the youth’s engine and he shakily put out a hand and testingly touched the unwanted companion. Then, as if it were a biting test, he used both of his servos to push the symbiot as far as he could away from his body, which, in the end, was only like a yard. Bluestreak then put his head back into his knees and continued his mourning. It was as if saying goodbye to his existence.

Scorponok sat there a moment, staring in shock. Well, that was anticlimactic. Here he was expecting a punch or to at least to be yelled at, but no, just a gentle shove. At least it seemed that this new relationship wasn’t going to be painful one, even though his master did have some injury issues. Chirping again, the drone pulled himself up against the Autobot’s shin while wrapping his tail all the way around the shivering body, rubbing his head comfortingly against the youth’s leg.

And once again, Blue gently shoved him away. The process continued for at least four more times until the youngling finally stopped trying to push the drone away and let the close contact continue, his sobbing commencing. The scorpion-mech merely resumed its earlier mission of trying to be as close as possible to Bluestreak, his form encasing the youth with his tail as he rubbed against the Autobot’s leg.

 _Primus, what was he going to do_ thought Bluestreak. Th-this thing had drilled into his back and nearly killed him. Now, it wouldn’t leave him alone. There was no questioning it now though. The drone had not been trying to kill him last night. Scorponok had obviously been looking for a new host, and Blue had been his ticket. What was he going to do?! Only Decepticons only had drones. It was not an Autobot thing to have a drone. Autobot’s didn’t have parasitic murderers for pets. He was going to be punished. He knew it! They were going to take parts off of him one at a time … while he was still online … energon pooling everywhere … _like last time._

Somehow, Bluestreak kept a flashback at bay.

Finally, too tired to cry, Blue dared to look down at his newest and unwanted partner. The drone looked up at his with his huge optics and chirped. If he didn’t know what this thing was capable of, Bluestreak would have thought it cute.

“Why’d you do this to me?” whimpered the youth.

“Currr-Chirp?”

“I’m going to be branded as a traitor … and … and the medics are going to … to … I don’t want to die like that!” almost screamed the sniper.

“Kurp?”

“Don’t you get it? We are both going to die! One look at me and-and they’ll know!”

“Fffrrrrh!”

“We’re both going to die and there’s –”

“Bluestreak, is that you?” suddenly came a voice over one of the sand dunes. “Come on kid! Scream, making fun of Ratchet's paint color for all I care! Just let me know you’re okay!”

Blue went silent, even his vents going still. He didn’t know why it didn’t cross his mind earlier, but it would make sense that his team was looking for him. He had left last night, never showed up at the base, and it was well into mid-afternoon now. Slag! He had to get out of here before they found him and ripped out his parts one by one until he was a bleeding pile of energon.

Nearly scrambling over the shocked drone who was trying to burrow into the earth, Bluestreak tried to clamor over the top of the other sand dune before Ironhide – yes, only Ironhide would make a crack like that about Ratchet – could see him. He had to get out of here before anyone saw what had happened to –

Clang!

The gunner’s spark literally froze as he ran into a heavy metal chest, nearly falling back onto his behind from the force, but two heavy green arms reached out suddenly, keeping him from falling back down the dune. His vents nearly seized as he looked upward into the bright, worried optics of Ratchet. His mind freezing in fear, Bluestreak’s knees gave out but the CMO kept him standing while another being blocked him in from behind.

“Ratchet, you found the kid! He okay?” said a tired looking Ironhide as he looked the youngling up and down, his eyes stopping at the kid’s mid-back. His optics dulled for a moment … was that dried energon on his back? And what was with his door wings? They seemed to be hiding something. They were bowed far lower and closer to his back than usual. Yet, before he could even think it over, a voice drew him from his thoughts.

“I don’t know. Are you alright Bluestreak?” asked Ratchet as he threw a scan over the youngling's form. “You seem … disoriented.”

The youngling looked up at him and then behind himself. Where was the gunfire? Where were the cries of _traitor_? Where was … anything? Daring himself to look downward to see if Ironhide had merely stepped over the drone, the youngling spotted nothing, not even indentations in the sand. H-had he imagined the whole thing?

“Bluestreak? Can you tell me what happened? Do you need immediate medical attention?” said the medic, pulling the youth from his glances at the sand behind them.

“N-no, Ratchet. I-I was just scared. I got lost in the desert last n-night, my comms went down for some reason, and I have been wandering since,” said Bluestreak in a drowned tone as he struggled to keep himself from panicking.

The CMO frowned, throwing another scan over the youngling which the youth physically cringed from. There seemed something odd about the youth's systems, but he really couldn’t concentrate on that when something far more important came to light. The elder mech quickly let go of the youth who was now supporting himself, opening a compartment in his leg as he pulled out a glowing blue cube.

“You must have,” said Ratchet as he placed the cube in the gunner’s shaking hands. “You’re energy levels are extreme low youngling, and there seems to be something wrong with your systems. Here, sit down before you fall down, and let me plug into a medical port. From my outer scans your spark seems slightly distressed. The heat might have gotten to you or you comms. I –”

The gunner’s wings tightened and he nearly crushed the cube in his hand. He quickly swallowed, knowing the medic would know something was wrong right away if he got even a peak at his systems. H-he couldn’t let Ratchet touch him … He never wanted another medic touching him ever again.

“N-no, I’m just tired Ratchet. Can we just get back to the others, I’m exhausted,” whispered the grey mech as he took a step closer towards the Weapon’s Specialist, his optics taking on a frightened glimmer.

It was not a look that didn’t go unnoticed by the medic and neither did the dried energon on the youth's back as Ironhide helped the shivering kid down the sand dune. Something had happened last night. Something bad enough that for the first time in his life ... Bluestreak wished to be silent. Not that Ratchet was too worrie . He always found everything out. Always.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust me. There is a huge part of the plot behind that partial memory Bluestreak had. It’s going to be sad when you figure it out as well. Bring on the angst!


	3. Bunkmates

Ironhide groaned as he stepped off the plane, sand still falling from between plating. “About time that ride ended. That sand in my joints was making me itch. Ugh, it’s going to take forever to get it all out.”

Ratchet came out of the military plane next while in vehicle form. He transformed a moment later, shaking sand loose like water and sending it on all the nearby NEST soldiers whom all yipped and swore. Not that Ratchet paid them much mind. If anything, he shook more sand on them. “At least you weren’t buried half way in it, slagger.”

Then, as if on cue, the two mechs hopped out of the way with heavy grunts as a flash of yellow slammed itself out of the back of the huge, cargo plane. Bumblebee’s tires squealed as he did a u-turn of sorts, his tires sending up smoke. He sat there a second, his engine growling twice before the tires seemed to jump off the ground, his body transforming into bi-pedal mode. He quickly stood, dancing a few steps to shake off excess sand before he pointed at the older mechs and moon-walked away. Both mechs gave him bored looks. Typical Bumblebee behavior.

= _Come on guys, that Sandbox wasn’t that bad! You try sliding down one of those sand dunes? It’s like surfing,_ = beeped the youth, his speakers playing a quick phrase to Surfing USA.

The two older mechs just shook their heads, and then simultaneously stared at the youngling crossing their arms over their chests as they waited for the other youngling to exit. A moment passed and their frowns grew deeper. The yellow youth, catching the scent of old-mech-grumpiness, quickly chirped and looked back into the plane’s innards. He called out, = _Come on Bluestreak! Optimus wants us to give him a report of what we found out there or what we didn’t find to be exact._ =

Bluestreak tightened in his alt mode, his form gripping to the shadows like a scared raccoon. He knew that the older mechs had been watching him since they had left the desert. He didn’t blame them. The youngling knew that he had been silent and sleepless for the past two days after the incident. He had clung to the adults as if he was afraid to be alone. They had noticed, of course. There was no doubt about it.

Ratchet had even asked him if there was anything wrong.

Thinking of a quick lie, the youth had merely stated he was a little paranoid after being alone in the desert for a night. He knew it was a satisfactory answer for wanting to recharge next to the elder mechs, but he also knew there was no excuse for his clingy-ness. What else was he supposed to do? The drone was _not_ gone. It was just below the sands. Had to be. He even felt it in his spark chamber if he was still long enough. Scorponok was always touching and gripping, trying to find his _partner_.

Using all the strength in his spark, Blue always tried to draw away from the feeling, but it was painful when he’d do that. Flinching would only gain Ratchet’s attention so he tried to remain neutral, allowing the drone to push into the bond yet never responding back. At least the ‘touch’ was weaker now that he was on a different continent. In fact, it almost felt dead. Bluestreak could only blame it on the distance. For the first time he was glad Earth had such deep, blue oceans. No mech or drone would try to make such a journey on the ocean’s bottom and even if they did, it would take weeks.

He was safe … for now.

“C-coming,” said the grey youth as he drove out of the plane slowly, staying in his alt mode as the youth waited for the others to stop stretching so they could head back to base. He was in pain. He knew it would be agonizing to transform, which was why he was waiting. It was as if his body was rearranging itself. True, it was nowhere near as painful as waking up after being attacked in the desert, but at least the current aches were nowhere near as dreadful as his first transformation. He had nearly passed out from the pain. That next morning he would admit he was grateful for the pain though. Checking his back when he was finally alone, he found that he no longer had to hide a hole in his back. The pains had been rearranging his plating.

Despite the fact that it was nowhere near as painful as his first transformation, Bluestreak found he didn’t want others seeing him transform. Who knew what changes the drone programming had made while he had been in alt mode this whole time? Maybe it was going to continue like this until he looked almost like Blackout!

The youth shivered at the thought, but tried to bury the reaction by starting his engine and roaring forward. He was hoping that Bumblebee would make a race out of the challenge.

Bee did not disappoint.

“I’m going to beat you there, Bee! Eat my dirt!” cried Bluestreak as if nothing life changing had happened in the last few days, his wheels spiting up gravel. The other youngling’s engine roared and he chased after his brother in arms, laughter escaping his speakers.

Ratchet and Ironhide stood there watching the youths’ race. It was a long journey back to Hoover Dam, their temporary headquarters, courtesy of Sector Seven’s decommission until something more reliable could be acquired. All the older mechs agreed the humans were trying to apologize about the incident with Bumblebee. Not that Bumblebee was very thankful. He had stayed at Sam’s house for three weeks, trying to ignore the place, but in the end, when another younger mech like Bluestreak had showed up, he came to the base to strangely … play. The younglings were always at battle, fighting for their lives and the right to exist. They never got to play like mechs their age should have. So, making up for lost time, Bumblebee was driving the older mechs crazy. Bluestreak had been as well, talking up a storm, but now he was silent, his spark drowned in fear.

Fear was something old mechs could notice easily.

“Something’s up with Bluestreak,” said Ironhide just as Ratchet opened his mouth to speak as well.

Ratchet turned his head, a frown forming on his face. “You noticed as well?”

“It was hard not to. Primus, I had been cringing about the ride back with that little motor mouth, but the trip back was even worse than I thought with his uncharacteristic silence. I wanted to ask the kid what was wrong, but he kept clinging to Bumblebee like he knew I wanted to talk to him.”

“I noticed, and it also bothers me that he wanted to recharge by us for the past few days. Generally, he’d hang out with Bumblebee given their close age, but I have a feeling something’s bothering him. I think his current behavior has to do with the desert incident … and the energon that was on his back,” said Ratchet as he glared at the parting piles of dust.

Ironhide stiffened. “You noticed that too?”

“I’m a medic. I notice everything, like that limp you’ve been trying to hide since the first night in the desert. I’m going to have to give you an exam and maybe take that leg apart if sand got into one of your old war wounds,” said the medic as a grin rose on his face, his optics still looking forward.

The weapon specialist took a step to the side and coughed. It was not a well-hidden fact that Ironhide hated checkups. He’d fight, growl and pull rank as often as he could to get out of any medical care that wasn’t immediate battle repair. That was why Optimus almost always had Ratchet and Ironhide on staff together. The CMO was the only one not afraid of the old mech’s medical objection.

“It’s nothin’,” said the old mech as he tried to resist the urge to rub his hip with his free hand. “I’m more worried about Blue. You think he was attacked by the drone in the desert? It would explain why he’s been jumpy, but it doesn’t make since that he wouldn’t tell us about it.”

Ratchet shrugged, “I don’t know, but I guess we’ll find out. Come on, let’s get moving before the younglings get too far ahead of us. We’ll just keep an eye on him until he’s ready to tell us what’s wrong.”

...

Bluestreak couldn’t get out of the debriefing room fast enough. He had kept everything about his masquerade in the desert a simple lie of misdirection. He sincerely hoped that Ratchet’s findings of an ungrounded burrow would appease their commander’s worry on the matter and the subject would fall into a distant memory. That was a best case scenario, of course. Who knew what the aftereffects of abandoning a drone would be, or if there were any at all. The youngling hoped not. He had taken to ignoring the medical bays since that day when he was … was … the youth buried the thought before it would come back and bite him. He just wanted to refuel and recharge. He might have recharged next to the older mechs during the trip back, but he didn’t get much recharge in.

He had new nightmares to haunt him after all.

Making a quick detour to the rec. room, he grabbed a cube not even bothering to look to see who was in the room. That didn’t mean he went unnoticed by everyone else. Kup, Perceptor and Prowl looked up, their conversation ending as the youth all but rushed into the room. They all waited for him to run over to them, his mouth running a mile a minute about his latest ‘sand adventure’.

The tale never even came through. No introduction, no excited banter about Earth, and nothing else of that nature. Bluestreak merely grabbed a cube, downed it, and then exited before any of them could even say a word to him, nearly running into Jolt in his rush. In fact, they all sat there a minute waiting for him to come hopping back in like some kind of happy pup. Yet, when nothing came, the exhausted looks became worried ones.

“That was an abnormality for our adolescent, was it not?” asked Perceptor as he looked at the two other mechs.

Prowl quickly replied, door wings rising in worry. “Yes, it was. I can only assume that something happened in the desert, and I would _know_ what that was if a _certain_ CMO hadn’t directed me in this direction. He wouldn’t allow me into the debriefing room until I refueled … and of course, Optimus agreed.”

The two other bots chuckled, Jolt sauntering over and joining the group, a cube in hand, “How is it going my dear old mechs? We taking bets yet on why the young motor mouth isn’t talking us all into deactivation. It was his first off-base mission on Earth, after all.”

Prowl frowned. _Jolt_ … his current bane of youthful energy and pranks. There was always one on base. Usually someone like Sideswipe was the suspect, but he wasn’t here yet. That would be the day. Currently, that space was filled by the new bot on the block, Jolt. He was a young mech, barely a few vorns in his adult upgrade. He had trouble keeping things low key and so Prowl had to regulate his missions. Personally, he blamed the youth’s caretaker for his lack of proper military etiquette. If he had had one. Jolts records were painfully lacking … something Prowl planned to rectify.

Opening his mouth, ready to tell Jolt that was unprofessional of him, Kup interrupted first, “You’h think one of us should go talk to the kid?”

“Sure, but we should take bets on him,” joked the newest bot on Earth.

Prowl’s … did not find that humorous. If it were possible, he scowled even harder. Yet, before the tactician could comment on the remark, there was the sound of a tussle in the hallway and Ironhide tripped into the room, rubbing his leg. Ratchet followed after like puffed up bird, griping something about the medical bay. The verbal argument even dragged on as the two older mechs grabbed cubes at the dispenser and sat down with the rest of the mechs at the table.

“After this cube Ironhide and then it’s to the medical bay with you. You hear me. That limp has gotten worse,” said the medic, glaring at the other bot before he turned to his other table-mates, “Kup, Perceptor, Prowl … _Jolt_.”

Jolt smiled weakly … now knowing that you did not try to prank the medic without consequences.

“Hello Ratchet. How was the journey?” said Perceptor as his head perked up, part of him hoping that someone had brought some dirt samples back for him to examine. “Hopefully, one of your remembered my request for mineral collections from the desert?”

Ratchet looked at the scientist for a minute before throwing a look over at the grumpy looking Ironhide. “No, sorry Percy, but if Ironhide ever lets me clean out his fraggen hip and all the sand he collected in it, I can get you a sample.”

The red scientist seemed to beam at the thought and gave Ironhide a wink. The black mech merely glared back, taking another sip of his cube.

“So,” said Jolt, a slightly mischievous grin on his facial plates. “What did happened on your little trip? I had wanted to go after all, but Prowl doesn’t trust me around the humans. He thinks I’m going to transform in the middle of a freeway and scream something stupid like: _Aliens! Bow you fools_.”

Ironhide snorted and Prowl’s cube nearly cracked in his hand. Oh yeah, that kid was going to kill Prowl … or more likely the other way around.

Ignoring Prowl’s death glare at the new mech, Ironhide looked up and stated simply, “What? Bluestreak didn’t talk your audios off while he was in here?”

The mech shook his head, Jolt stating, “From what I saw, he didn’t say a thing. I take it that either it was the most boring trip ever, which Bluestreak would still consider the most exciting thing ever, or something bad happened. Did the drone try to eat his face or something? Or did Ironhide start recollecting about his old couplings?”

A collection of snorts and chuckles escaped some of the more carefree mechs at the table. Prowl glared a moment more before taking the digi-pad he was working on, noticeably pulling up what looked like Jolt’s personnel file, and then preceded to type away. Jolts laughter slowly died as he looked away awkwardly.

“He wasn’t attacked, was he?” said the blue mech trying to smooth things over with Prowl before he got a write up or something equally irritating. Jeeze, mech sure was touchy.

Ratchet frowned deeply, speaking in a calm tone, “We don’t know, to tell the truth, and his debriefing revealed little else. He was alone for a whole night, lost in the desert. We tried to press him for a while about what happened, but he was determined not to say anything.”

The other mechs all went still, especially Prowl. It was not a hidden fact that the mech kept a special optic on the youth. Many wondered if it was because the youth didn’t have a caretaker of his own. Prowl, always a stickler for protocol, stated that younglings were supposed to have caretakers. It didn’t matter if it was in the middle of a war, and the youth needed care. Yet, with all the chaos trying to find the Allspark, the youngling had fallen through the cracks, but not from Prowl's thoughts. It was a well-known fact that even though Prowl wasn't always on the same base as the youth, Prowl frequently tried to get him a full time caretaker.

“What has his behavior been like? Perhaps we can conclude what happened by observing it?” said the enforcer with a worried look.

Ratchet looked at the other mech, knowing that calculating gaze anywhere. Prowl had his battle computer running. Then, breaking down his metal notes which he was going to add to the youth’s physiology files later, the medic stated, “He has been jumpy and frightened. It's as if he's afraid of the ground honestly. He has even been clinging to us older bots at night. So he’s probably been having nightmares.”

There were frowns while other mechs nodded in understanding. Bluestreak was a good kid and all the older mechs tried to look out for him.

Ironhide finally spoke, reading everyone’s mind, “So, whose going to go talk with the kid?”

Everyone exchanged looks as if trying to mentally draw straws, but before anyone could even open their intake, the sound of old shifting gears filled the room. Kup spoke softly, “I think I will go talk to him. You all have places to be after all … I have nobody at the moment. “

The group was silent as they watched the green mech go, their lip components all tight as they waited for Kup to disappear from sight. Then, as if reading each other’s minds, Ratchet stated in a sullen tone, “He really is taking Hot Rod’s disappearance badly, isn’t he?”

Prowl merely nodded, putting down his now empty cube. “Yes, he is. Please excuse me.”

Yet, for being a seemingly collected mech, the Second in Command's mind was racing. Kup had given him an idea. Maybe, just maybe, his worries for the young gunner had just answered themselves in a more permanent way then anyone else had in mind.

...

Bluestreak stared at the shadows of his room for a klick, his own shadow seeming to want to join the darkness. Why was his room dark? The young mech struggled to remain calm. It was fairly obvious that someone had turned off his lights while he had been gone in the desert. He never turned them off. They would at least be on ten percent power, but never off. He couldn’t take the dark … not after his _injuries_.

_He tried to keep quiet. Not a sob escaped him as he lied in the dark, his whole body aching, but he couldn’t risk it. Someone might hear him and come. It didn’t matter which side would come, Decepticon or Autobot. He knew that they would be happy. Not because he was still clinging to life. No. But because he was so close to death._

_He was still fresh._

_It was easier to tell what parts were still functioning that way. Both sides were so in need for spare, decay-free parts._

_The youngling continued to remain still, hoping his horrors wouldn’t come true, but, just as he was about to fall into recharge, he heard footsteps. Tightening, the youth started to drag his shredded body closer to a pile of leaking and hole ridden corpses. They looked like Decepticon corpses, but he welcomed the old, decaying mechs as if they were his caretakers. Using his still useful arm, he dragged himself underneath one corpse. His form threatened to shiver as he felt a collection of congealed energon and coolant drip down onto him, but he stilled himself by lying his head on a headless corpse’s chest. He offlined his optics and pretended not to hear the voices nearby. Instead, he pretending that he heard a spark beating below him and that he was lying with a live mech, maybe a friend … not a corpse._

_He was safer here with the dead then the living._

Yet, just as the memory was about to pull him the whole way down into its ever encasing horror, something seemed to lurch forward and strike at the memory. It was as if an armored force had just struck out and cleaved the memory in half. The youth nearly collapsed from the rush that overcame his spark. Another mind was with his and it was forcing the fear away without an ounce of trouble or hesitation. The youth merely panted from the power of other thoughts and feelings. The youngling, giving into the other mind, found himself falling against the wall for support and slowly sliding down.

Gradually, the pain and worry of the memory was lost into the other mind now. Not knowing what else to do, the youngling just concentrated on the armored force, listening to the whispers and strength it had to offer. Was this what it felt like to have a spark-mate or twin, where you could feel them all the time? Was it warm and comforting like this? Was … was … the youngling’s optics onlined and he found himself fleeing from the feeling. Primus, no, no, no! This was a bond. Not a friend, but … a parasite.

Bluestreak struggled to get to his feet but kept falling back against the wall as another wave of emotions that weren’t his washed over him. Now that his fear was drowned for the moment, the other mind was asking questions without words, demanding location, base designs, diagnostics, stasis, and current fuel levels. The youth tried to pull away and hide such information, but he had let the other mind in too deeply a moment ago and it was wandering about in his head as if it had always been there.

Then, as quickly as it had come, it had left, whispering promises of seeing him soon. The youngling was merely left there with a new feeling in his chest and thoughts full of worry. He had accepted the slagger’s part of the bond to push away the memory. Now, it was fully cemented into him.

With a small click from his vocal processor, Bluestreak pulled his knees into his chest. The drone was coming for him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It would sneak into the base, maybe kill someone in the process, and then come feed off of him so that the other Autobots could see he was a traitor. Shortly after, they would shoot him and while he bled out onto the floor, they would cannibalize the parts that they needed. They wouldn't care that his spark was still beating and that his optics were still online.

Dragging his head into his knees, the grey mech fought not to start clicking like a weeping sparkling. Yet, he was stressed, tired, and now he had a hungry drone coming his way. His time was on the countdown. Maybe he should desert. It was something that had crossed his mind after the _incident_. He had had to push down the idea though because, at the time, energon was rare and deserters were not treated with a kind hand … by either side. So, he stayed and the thought was forgotten. He had become a sniper instead. It was a well-known fact that snipers were either never injured or hit with a kill-shot by another sniper. They rarely saw melee or firsthand battle. He would never risk being so close to death again.

Never again would he be someone’s spare parts.

So, the youth sat there, his vents hiccupping. Should he run away? Should he make plans to collect energon secretly and steal an energon converter? Should he find a nice planet or comet to make his home with his parasite? Primus, that would be quiet. Never again will his voice chit-chat away with its usual buzzing, because he would have no company. Autobots would shoot at him for having a drone, Decepticons would try to force him into their ranks, and neutrals would be afraid of him. He would be truly, entirely alone.

So, despite himself, the youth started to click and cry away, his vents stuttering. What did it matter if he cried? He was alone, after all. No one was there to see him.

...

Kup stopped in the hall, his head hung.

Frag, what was he doing here? Was he really so spark broken over losing a charge? He had lost youngling's before to the war. Had more than one bleed out under his hands as he struggled to save them. That … was war. Why had Hot Rod's loss and different? He should mourn, move on, and think of the young bot fondly.

Then again, his other younglings only left him when they got their final upgrades or when they offlined. Hot Rod … had run away from him.

What had he done that was so wrong to warrant that? Had he done anything wrong at all?

Burying those thoughts, knowing he would never have any answers, the old mech stalled before Bluestreak’s door. He had been ready to knock when he heard a soft sound. It was a sound he knew all too well, yet he drew his head in a little closer to listen. There seemed to be clicking … no, crying. The old mech sighed, knowing the sound far too well. He had taken care of many younglings being an old bot, and knew there was only one way to deal with this.

Knocking on the door, the older mech spoke, “Bluestreak, its Kup. Please let me in.”

He then heard the choking of vents as the youngling struggled to drown his sorrows. He even answered hurriedly, “I- _click_ -I’m busy right now. Come back – _click_ \- later.”

Kup, in his old age, did not have the patience to play this game. He vented and stated simply, “Either yah open the door youngling or I open it myself.”

There was a choking noise, and then a whining sound before there was a screech, the door slding open. The youth stood there, trying to look as if there was nothing wrong, but his door wings were twitching and dragged down towards the floor. Kup himself didn’t have door wings, but he knew enough mechs that did to know something was wrong. Maybe he should have let someone like Optimus or Ironhide deal with this. He always hated this part.

Giving a weak smile, the youth quickly spoke, “W-what’s up, Kup?”

The elder shook his head, knowing this game all too well. Giving a dry look, the old mech stated, “No need to try and hide it, youngling. Just tell me now what bothered you in the desert? I could hear your clicking all the way through the door. So whatever it was, it was bad. Best to come clean now.”

Bluestreak tightened, his vocal processor whining as he took a frightened step backward. He quickly looked over his shoulder, as if looking for a door, but then looked back at the older mech. He couldn’t run away.

Quickly throwing his gaze to the floor, the grey mech whispered, “I-I don’t want to talk about it, Kup.”

The green mech glared at the youth. He was too old for this. He wasn’t going to daisy-foot around the youngling’s feelings. He had done that in his younger years, but quickly learned that it was best just to get things out. Leaving them to feaster until the youth was ready was useless suffering, especially when a simple problem could become a full blown catastrophe. Nope, he wasn’t in the mood for this guessing game.

Gaining a frown, Kup stated simply, “Bluestreak, listen kid, I’m an old mech. My joints are rusting as we speak, so either you tell me what’s bothering you or I’m leaving.”

The youth whined as the older mech turned to take a step away, but before he could even take more than one step, a grey hand lashed out and gripped his elbow.

Trying not to smirk at such a simple victory, the old mech looked back and spoke again, “Well, you are not going to waste an old mech’s time are you?”

Swallowing, the youth looked to the floor again and then whispered, “I can’t Kup. Please, I just had a bad night in the desert. That’s all that’s wrong.”

Kup really wanted to believe the youth, but with the way he was shaking, things were far worse than a bad night. Feeling sympathetic and yet stern, the elder reached out a hand and cupped the youngling’s cheek, giving him a slight pat before he started to pull away. “Well then. Good night kind.”

Bluestreak’s wings dropped immediately as if he were drowning. He really didn’t want to be alone with a drone coming after him! Before he knew it, the youngling was clutching to the older mech’s hand tightly. With shivering optics, he quickly whimpered, “Please don’t leave. I just had a nightmare in the desert. That’s all. I just want to recharge, Kup, but I’m too scared. I haven’t been able to recharge in the past few days because if it. Please, please don’t go.”

Kup sighed, knowing this story all too well. Nightmares were something that constantly plagued many younger mechs. Younglings really shouldn’t be allowed in war, but they were big enough to die … they were strong enough to fight.

It wasn’t like there were youngling care centers anymore anyway.

Giving into the plea, Kup got his hand free and drew the young mech into a hug, trying to make sure he didn’t touch the gunner’s sensitive wings. Then, deciding that he’d suffer Prowl’s wrath later for missing his shift, he took a few steps into the gunner’s quarters and towards the only berth in the room, “Come on youngling, if you can’t sleep, I’ll sleep with you tonight.”

The younger mech merely stood there in shock as he watched Kup crawled onto the berth before him, waving for the youngling to crawl in with him. Bluestreak stood there a minute, clicking, slightly surprised by the older mech’s offer. It wasn’t that mechs didn’t sleep together or share berths in a non-sexual way, but mostly such actions were only done between younglings and creators or younglings and caretakers. Kup wasn’t his caretaker though. He had Hot Rod. Well … _had_. Bluestreak didn’t have a caretaker. Nobody wanted him and if they did … they always died shortly afterwards. He never had had a caretaker snuggle with him when he had a nightmare … especially after the _incident_ when he needed one the most.

Almost as if not knowing what to do, the youth continued to stand there, his vents picking up into hiccupped gasps, he was going to start crying again.

As if reading Bluestreak’s thoughts, the older mech sat up and took the grey mech by his elbow and willed the slightly smaller mech onto the berth. Bluestreak simply followed, his clicking becoming choking gasps. With a small whisper of _its okay_ , the elder mech wrapped his arms around the smaller frame, allowing Bluestreak to bury his head between Kup’s neck and chest. Then, once comfortable, the youth continued his earlier crying and clutched to the older being as if he’d fall away from existence if he didn’t have an iron hard grasp on Kup’s form.

Clicking back in a way that was meant to calm sparklings, Kup allowed the youth to cry all he wanted. He didn’t mind. He knew younglings could be easily upset, especially when the world started to calm down. The youth probably wasn’t really upset about the nightmare in the desert, but his thoughts in the desert which bore the nightmare. It was a reflection period, and the youth probably couldn’t take in the things that had happened to him and what he had done to survive this war.

Bluestreak might have left the desert, but the things he had found there were still haunting him.

...

There was a whine as the larger aircraft fell down to the earth like a goose finally ready for rest. The tires squealed as they hit the landing strip, the large plane coming to a loud until its engines cut and it slowly came to a halt. For a moment all was still, the unloading vehicles driving up the strip towards the airborne vehicle. There was a loud clunk though and suddenly something fell to the ground … something metal. Then, as the lights from the nearing vehicles threatened to reveal the underbelly of the large plane, there was a scurrying of many metallic legs. Then, when the light fell on the underbelly, there was nothing there. The thing was already scurrying for the grass, one thought on its mind, “ _I’m coming master_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, for the original readers, I decided to go with Jolt instead of Smokescreen like with the original version. I really love Smokescreen from Transformer’s Prime over G1 Smokescreen so if he shows up, I will be using that version of him. I then revised some of Kup’s inner thoughts.
> 
> Overall, cuddle chapter plus it introduces the caretaker/youngling bond type of the fic. Its not sexual. I, of course, will hint that transformers can have some type of relations, but I don't think there will be any of that in this fic. Its not like I don't have enough smut stories for people to read anyways. XD


	4. Little Monsters

The grasses were tall and dancing. It was like a thousand fingers were reaching upwards tickling his underbelly. Scorponok had giggled – or chirped to be more exact – for the first few seconds after he had crawled into the tall vegetation. At first, after getting off the landing field, he had hated this continent. The air was not chilly at night like it was in the desert. It was cooler, but still muggy. The ground was hard as well. It wasn’t soft and shifting like the sands, and he quickly realized that he was now at a disability. He would have trouble attacking from underground. His stealth was diminished as well.

He ignored that though. All he needed was his new Master.

So, he had been walking all night, grabbing a quick ride on a freight train. Luckily, his Master’s mind was weak and fragile, haunted by many lost memories. It was easy for him to get the information he needed. He also got some semantics to the base and was not shy about abusing the information. He was hungry. That attack had taken more out of him then he knew, and he was unable to take as much energy as he wanted the first time. His Master needed the energy to heal and survive the force link-up. But, from what he understood, his master now had free access to an energon dispenser. The youngling was probably going to gorge himself for the next few days, his systems readying themselves for the next link-up.

The scorpion-mech clicked happily at the thought, already tasting the sweet energy that was bound to come, but first … he had to figure out how to get across this freeway without being seen.

One huge car pile-up later, a hitchhiked ride on top of an eighteen-wheeler and about two hours worth of walking, Scorponok found himself at his final destination. There seemed to be little security, probably because there were few Autobots at the base and the base seemed temporary regardless. There would be security to come so perhaps it was best if he started digging his tunnels and nest now.

Clicking his claws together, the drone suddenly dived beneath the soil, a whispering echoing through his mind, “ _Master_.”

...

Bluestreak’s optics suddenly snapped online, the word echoing in his head. He had been having a rather pleasant recharge: _no dreams, no worries, no nightmares_.

Offlining his optics, the youngling put more energy into his audios. He didn’t hear someone call out to him again. Instead, he heard the soft hum of Kup’s vents and engine. It was kind of like a slight snoring of the vents. Normal, apparently, for older mechs. Blue didn't mind. He forgot how nice it was to have someone to share a berth with. True, he usually had a roommate of some sort, but they were no caretaker. They were kind, but didn’t have the patience that caretakers did. A caretaker would comfort him if he had a nightmare or was too scared to sleep, not a roommate.

Yawning and thinking that he had been woken by nothing, Bluestreak was about to lay his head back down when suddenly … the shadows moved.

A gasp caught itself in the young mech’s vocalizer at the sight. There was something in the room, and it was getting closer and closer like a living shadow. For a moment, the youth thought he was going to have one of those nightmares where a dead mech would come out of the darkness and ask if he may rest with the youth … like _last_ time. Those were the worst. Not because a seemingly dead mech of Autobot or Decepticon origin was asking if they may lay their shredded body next to him and comfort him like their corpses had so long ago … but because he had to _remember_. Every illusion that asked to lie by him was a real mech from that day he had hidden in corpses to spare himself. They had all been real mechs Blue had curled up against when he had been bleeding, broken and hiding. He had been so close to deactivating.

Scorponok froze. There was fear, deep mind-destroying fear coming in waves off his young master now. What did his Master have to be afraid of? _Not him_. It had to be that other mech in the room. Yes, the green one curled up with his young host. The slagger was older. He probably had been taking advantage of the young mech, or had hurt his frail feelings in some way.

Yes, that was something new as well … _frail feelings_. Decepticons had a tendency to be lacking in the emotional department, except when it came to rage. Well, the emotions weren’t entirely unpleasant, but they certainly would take some getting used too.

Either way, the green mech was getting a taste of his tail.

Gliding out of the shadows, the scorpion-mech noiselessly moved forward rising his stinger ready to impale the recharging mech as if it were nothing. Yet, before he was about to slam through the plates of that green chassis, a grey hand sprang forward in an almost protective manner.

“He didn’t hurt me,” said Bluestreak, saying the words as if on instinct. He wasn’t sure why he had said them, but something in the bond was telling him that that was what he had to say in order to protect the older mech from his newest … problem. Strangely, Scorponok stilled, drew his tail downward and clicking softly upward at the young mech.

“How’d you get here?” said Blue, his optics brightening suddenly at the noise that escaped his mouth. For a moment all he could feel was the bond and he had forgotten about Kup. Now he was eyeing the recharging mech like he was an executioner. After a quick breem of holding his breath, his vents silent and his body started to overheat slightly, did Bluestreak threaten a sigh. His hands shook as he slowly lifted up the green mech’s intertwined limbs from his. For the first time, the youngling kind of regretted that caretaker’s nearly suffocated their charges. It was something that he had been craving since he lost his creators, but he couldn’t risk the older mech waking and seeing the drone.

Slowly, with a tense ease he managed to move Kup’s servos, stilling from time to time when a grunt would escape the elder. Finally, sliding off the berth and gently placing a green arm back on the berth, the gunner looked down at the drone. He knew not if he should be glad that it wasn't a corpse to come visit him, because instead he got a clingy drone. Both seemed bitter, but at least the latter was alive.

Swallowing, his hands shaking, he moved forward. Bluestreak couldn’t believe he was about to touch the drone purposely, but he didn’t want Kup to wake up and stare at him with optics filled with horror and disgust. He could not bear that … not from Kup … not from Prowl … not from anymech. So, he’d touch the drone and get him out of the base before anyone could see his shame.

Slowly, he knelt down, wrapping his arms around the drone as if it was a big dog, and he was nothing but a child. Scorponok, at first, was surprised and flailed his many legs as he was pulled off of the ground. He did not like being held like this. True, the bond eased a bit being so close to his new master’s spark, but this was uncomfortable. Despite himself, the scorpion-bot let out a rather loud whine and almost was dropped.

“Quiet!” whimpered Blue as he struggled to keep the squirming ‘bot in his arms while at the same time trying to place a hand over Scorponok’s vocal processor. “Or you won’t get fed.”

The young-bot froze, his wings shivering. F-fed? Where had that come from? N-no. Oh, Primus. There was a program that had been on his HUD since he woke up and he hadn’t noticed it. I-it had been readying his systems for energy conversion and symbiot support.

Bluestreak’s fingers could no longer hold onto the thing in his grasp. Fear and disgust were crawling up his spinal-column. I-if he fed it, it would keep coming back and sooner or later he’d be gutted for his parts. A small sob escaped the gunner’s vocalizer and he completely dropped the scorpion-drone, Blue’s body falling backwards against the wall with a clang.

Kup, thankfully, snored a little louder at the sound and rolled over.

The young mech though started shaking his head. “No, no. I’m not going too.”

Scorponok’s red optics gleamed in the darkness and he tilted his head, a whine escaping the drone’s vocals as it drew nearer. The drone's claws quickly reached forward as if asking to be picked back up again.

Blue knew the smaller bot wasn’t asking to be picked up merely for the contact: it wanted to feed off of him as if he had a tit on which to suck. He was no Creator. He was no pawn. He was _not_ a free meal. He was not a _Decepticon_.

“No, go away,” whispered the youth, his arms surrounding himself. “Autobots don’t have drones. J-just go away, okay. I know you don’t like me. J-just leave me alone. I won’t tell anyone you were here. Go find a Decepticon or something.”

Scorponok ignored the plea and all but crawled up his Master now, whining loudly and caring less if the green mech woke. He was hungry. Yes, he knew the youngling was scared. In fact, all hosts were became scared or paranoid during the first feeding … even Decepticons. It was normal. He’d ease Bluestreak through it. He wouldn’t push too hard. He didn’t care if it took a few hours to get the youth calmed down and to start his feeding programs properly. He knew what to expect. He just wished the bond was stronger so he could tell the frightened mech that there was nothing to be scared of. There would be a slight ache and maybe a jolt when he plugged into Bluestreak’s systems, but he’d be able to comfort the gunner through the bond so much easier afterwards.

Yet, no matter how hard he pushed the feeling of reassurance through the bond, Bluestreak still remained panicked, his body sliding down the wall towards the door. Master wasn’t going to run, was he? It would only hurt them both if he did that. The youth wasn’t going to make Scorponok force him, was he?

...

Ratchet yawned and rubbed his face plates as he sat down at his make-shift desk. He knew that he should be in recharge like most of the base, but he had work to do. During the meeting with Prime, he had been informed that they had just received a communication that another unit was heading their way. Soon enough a fully staffed ship would land on the moon. Apparently, Ratchet would be helping Hoist build a short range space-bridge that would connect the now planned Autobot City on the moon to a to-be-assigned base on Earth. He had to admit he was glad to know they were getting a real base soon and that more Autobots were alive and well. At the same time he was wondering if he should throw himself off the dam now or later. Full staffed meant that the ship and to have at least twenty to thirty mechs on it. And thought they said they were fully staffed … he doubted they had a _real_ medic. He’d never get a break between injuries, outdated maintenance checks, the building of Autobot City, and training new medics.

Free time was never really free time in the life of the CMO.

Well, since the ship was still a few weeks off, he’d get some of the mech's maintenance work in before he had more soldiers that he could handle. He wasn’t sure where to start with the maintenance, so picking soldiers alphabetically was fine. He really didn’t want to start off with Ironhide anyway. The mech had a way of ruining his day when it came to giving him a medical exam.

With a grunt of his engine, the medic quickly put the files in order and picked up the first one.

“Ah, Bluestreak. I don’t think I’ve ever personally done any work on him,” said the medic to himself, glad that Prowl was the youth's unit leader and had made sure to keep all medical files despite having lost their medic – Klench – in battle.

His cool mood disappeared quickly and was replaced by surprise after he opened Bluestreak’s file. It seemed … wrong. For the most part, it seemed short except for a well document report on an almost full-body reformat a few vorns ago after a battle on a Cybertronian settlement called Veala. Ratchet cringed as he looked at the repairs. The poor youth had to have been in the medical bay for orns for the injuries and integration of new parts. Ratchet was surprised that the youth hadn’t been left for dead by the medics, marked a critical. So, they must have found him at the end of battle, or he certainly wouldn’t be here. He’d hate to admit it, but in big battles like Veala medics had to make hard choices. Sometimes they even had to cannibalized off mechs as soon as they passed in order to keep the less critical alive.

Bluestreak had been lucky. He was probably thought dead by everyone and was somehow able to hold out until the battle was over. He really should bring that subject up during Bluestreak’s next physiological evaluation. Whenever he was he due for that …

“Oh my, that’s not good,” whispered the medic to himself as he started to page deeper into the file.

It wasn’t that Bluestreak had bad marks for mental health. It was just that there wasn’t an updated evaluation after such a terrible battle. In fact, there was barely anything in the file after the major repairs from the Battle of Veala and a few minor battle repairs. Where were his upgrades, system wear checks, basic virus upgrades and maintenance checks in general? But that wasn’t the worse part: Bluestreak was older than he thought. Bluestreak had missed his last two youngling upgrades that he needed in order to function properly when he finally got to his adult upgrade. The kid was under-formatted for his age … unless this file was wrong. If not, he needed more supplies. Bumblebee was a little late for his next upgrade, but at least he wasn’t two behind, a third almost passed due.

The medic sighed. Here he had been wincing about the arrival of a ship full of new mechs to repair and beat with a wrench. Now, he couldn’t wait for the ship to show up. It would have supplies he needed for such a bad case of neglect. Ugh, Primus, they needed to get the kid a caretaker. A caretaker would have known the youngling needed upgrades.

Getting out of his chair, the medic decided to go see Prowl. He knew the tactician was not in recharge like directed. So the slagger might as well help make a schedule up to get the youngling time off so Ratchet could slowly make repairs and perform maintenance until the ship got here. He also wanted the youngling off the field as much as possible. He had a feeling that the energon he had seen on the youth’s back was caused by eroding systems. The youth was probably going to start falling apart if something wasn't done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet … oh how I do love your bad timing or perhaps impeccable timing. XD. 
> 
> And good old Scorpy. He’s probably going hungry tonight.


	5. Nightmares

Ratchet’s peds clicked softly on the cement floors, but the echoes made it seem like he was the size of Megatron.

Ugh, why did he have to think of that mech? It probably was because he was in the room that the warlord had once called his prison cell for half a vorn. What could he say though? Humans didn’t require incredibly large room sizes… so there weren’t many choices for the location of a temporary Autobot medical bay. So Megatron’s old room it was. Ratchet sighed at the thought. That wasn’t his only problem, said medical bay was low on supplies he needed. Bluestreak _needed_. But before he could even tackle that dizzying prolonged assignment, he needed to find Prowl.

The slagger wasn’t in his office. He wasn’t anywhere. He probably instinctively knew the resident medic was looking for him. Almost all the mechs seemed to have a ‘medic sense’ when it came to check-ups, but this wasn’t even about a check-up so where was he?

Grumbling under his breath, Ratchet decided that perhaps it was best to check with Prime first. The Prime wouldn’t have access to all the information he needed, but the leader would be able to make a request of all the men that had been hoarding parts –Jolt- to hand over extra materials for Bluestreak’s care. Parts could even be cannibalized from other mechs who weren’t really using a particular system or if they could finally find Barricade, they could rip some parts off that slagger when disarming him.

Killing him would be better for part selection though. Not that he could ethically support that train of thought.

Truthfully, Ratchet didn’t much care for cannibalizing equipment. Some mechs were really bothered by that. So Ratchet personally didn’t tell mechs when they were getting ‘donated’ parts if he could help it. Yet, the truth was, if big battles like Veala taught a medic anything, _what do the dead need with parts_? Their sparks were extinguished. Death was their new companion, and hopefully, the past Primes had come to greet their spark. They didn’t need them anymore.

He had heard of it rarely, but sometimes parts were even taken from the soon to be deactivated. It was not an Autobot practice, but sometimes it happened by accident. He had even heard a tale where some field medics had taken parts from a mech they though offline only to have him scream in horror when they were trying to remove one of his reserve pumps. The mech had been so damaged he couldn’t even comm them to let them know he was awake … and witnessing everything.

Ratchet shuddered at the thought. He didn’t know how that tale ended, but he understood _why_ it happened. Sometimes mechs just seemed to be deactivated, their spark beat so weak. This especially happened if the mech had been marked as a critical with a low survival rate. Those mechs were basically left to die, their parts still warm and ready for another body. Sometimes, medics just took those parts a little too soon. It had only happened to Ratchet once, and afterwards he always made sure the mech was deactivated by checking the spark chamber.

He’d never forget watching that spark fade. True, the mech had been marked a critical, he was little more than slag and wires … but it still haunted him.

Shaking off dark thoughts, he soon found himself at Prime’s door staring at a pair of blue optics. There, right in front of the doorway, stood Prowl looking as if he was waiting for something… likly for the Prime’s door to open.

“What are you doing here? I’ve been looking all the slag over for you?” replied the medic, his lip components twitching.

“Waiting to talk to Optimus… He’s resting.”

Ratchet looked at the door and then back at Prowl, ill-humored before he stated, “So… you’re going to wait out here all night? What’s so fraggen important that you are going to ignore recharge for a day?”

Prowl huffed through his vents, sighed, an emotional tidbit coming through his vocalizer as he stated, “Bluestreak. His behavior has been… disquieting.”

The medic shook his head and reached out to grab at the mech’s shoulder, forcing him to walk with him as he stated, “Well, it seems we have something in common this evening. You’re worried about Bluestreak and so am I. Prowl, by chance, do you know the last time Bluestreak has had a youngling upgrade?”

…

A walk down the hall later and into the rec room, Prowl was sighing into his energon and was now looking far more tired than he had a few klicks ago.

Prowl accepted that he didn’t have enough time to watch over Bluestreak, but the youngling was part of his unit or at least on the same base often enough that he should have noticed such a medical disparity. Apparently, the youth was nearly missing three upgrades. If something wasn’t done soon who knew what would happen. Bluestreak’s spark growth could be stunted and he might never mature fully, bonds incapable of forming and even interfacing becoming unlikely. Not to mention the youngling’s body would probably become riddled with glitches since his spark would be unable to support new systems.

It would be a short life and slow death.

Prowl’s wings drooped. He had thought he had been looking out for the young mech, but he had failed even at that. No wonder he never became a caretaker … no wonder he had failed his brother.

“So, I agree with your worry about Bluestreak,” added Ratchet. “It could be the start of a glitch, his recent fear and the energon I saw on his back the other night could both be symptoms. It could also be causing the nightmares he mentioned … or maybe it’s just paranoia.”

Prowl frowned, knowing how glitches could seriously heed a mech’s life and social status. He had one with his battle computer but it was nowhere as serious as say… Red Alert. The poor mech was so paranoid he seemed unable to exist without his job and its protection. He barely had a social life and if the war was ever to end, though no mech would admit it to his face, it was obvious that he would have trouble functioning.

The thought of what had happened to Red Alert happening to Bluestreak… it made him sick.

Ratchet sighed, watching a look of despair fill the mech’s optics. Prowl being anything but stoic was rare, but with flicker of micro-expression and his EM field … it was obvious how much he was disappointed in himself. Bluestreak was the closest thing he had to a charge.

Reaching out a servo, Ratchet patted the hand gripping the cube of energon, stating in a truly sympathetic tone, “It’s not your fault this happened, Prowl. You are not his caretaker.”

Prowled pulled his hand away, his voice full of indignation. “I should have found him a caretaker then.”

“Perhaps, but there’s not much we can do about that now. What’s done is done. We can help him now though,” said Ratchet, having already thought this through when he was looking for the tactician. “First, do you know if anyone is willing to donate unneeded systems or hoarding parts? And second … is there anyone who would be willing to be Bluestreak’s caretaker on staff?”

The enforcer’s wings twitched at the question, Ratchet hoping to plant a seed in the older Praxian’s mind.

The tactician’s interest seemed to plummet suddenly though as he looked away in what appeared to be shame, his words hollow. “I will ask about the parts. As for the caretaker … there was a reason I was waiting to speak with Optimus.”

Ratchet nodded, already suspecting why the officer had been perched before Prime’s door. He wanted Prime to instate a caretaker for Bluestreak. He hoped Prowl would recommended himself, but found it far more likely to be Kup, especially since they all knew what happened with Hot Rod.

Nodding his head in accordance, Ratchet stated what was on the black and white mech’s CPU. “You were waiting for Prime so you could ask about Kup. He really hasn’t been the same without a charge to watch over.”

Optics brightening, the enforcer slowly nodded his head and rose to his feet to leave, stating simply, “Yes, it would be good for both of them.”

Ratchet frowned but merely nodded again. Was Prowl so blind he couldn’t see that he would make a great caretaker for Bluestreak? Pah. Young mechs. Perhaps he would make his own recommendation to Optimus. Prowl likely would be unable to say no if Optimus requested it of him.

…

Scorponok inched a little closer, optics dimming, demand pressing into the spark bond.

“No, no. Please don’t make me. I’ll get you a cube or something… just leave me alone,” whimper Bluestreak as his fingers reached for the door. He knew that running away wouldn’t keep the drone at bay for long, but he just couldn’t let this happen. He didn’t want to be a Con!

Scorponok churred, his tail shifting. His young Master was getting twitchy. He could feel it over the bond. Well, best make this quick and painless as possible. He wasn’t in the mood for a chase, but if he had to catch his food for the first time… so be it.

Speak of Unicron! Bluestreak was already to the door and thrusting it open, a screech on his lips as a tail swished out and tripped him. The drone was then about to rush forward and steal a quick meal from his tripped master, but another shout joined the fray as Bluestreak fell. Frag, someone was outside the door! The scorpion quickly found himself falling back into the shadows of the room, unsatisfied and hopefully unseen.

Bluestreak shook his head as he clanged into something, having tripped into someone. His optics going bright, he stared at a downed Ratchet. It was instinct after that, he supposed, but he quickly clamored over to the old mech crying out in horror, “Please don’t let him get me!”

The cry vibrated over the walls, Kup’s optics onlining and Prowl’s sensitive wings twitching down the corridor. The enforcer’s lights flickering has he turned and rushed in the youth’s direction. He knew that cry anywhere. It was Bluestreak’s.

Kup, at the same time, was rolling out of the berth like a practiced soldier. His gun was poised high as he scanned every corner of the room and the open door, only glancing momentarily to see Bluestreak being pulled close to the medic’s chest in a protective manner and the medic’s saws buzzing to life. Flashing lights soon filled the area as well. Red, white and blue lights reflecting off the walls.

“What’s wrong!” barked Prowl as he came up next to the medic and the clearly terrified youngling.

“I don’t know. Kup is there something in the room?!” demanded the medic, clearly troubled with how shaken the youth was. He was so slaggen glad he decided to take this way. Who knew where Blue might have ran in fear. This was clearly a night terror if the confused look on Kup’s facial plate was any indication.

Glancing at the two mechs and then the petrified youth in Ratchet's arms, Kup stated, “T-there’s nothing in here. It wasn’t my snoring engine, was it? I know Hot Rod always said it was frightening, but I always thought that was just sarcasm.”

“I’m sure he was. Nonetheless, will you and Prowl check both ways down the hall?” stated Ratchet out loud so Bluestreak could hear it, though his communication link opened up and stated dully. = _For Bluestreak’s sake. It was most likely a night terror given his current state. He’s petrified._ =

The two mechs nodded and each quickly jogged in the opposite direction of each other, their headlights dancing in the corners where the hall’s lights did not reach.

Watching the two mechs run off, Ratchet quickly got to his feet and directed Bluestreak back to his room, making sure to turn on the lights and look around before having the mech sit on his berth. The youngling didn’t even look at him as he scanned the room, shame entering his optics.

“Sorry Ratchet… it’s just that…. You know I didn’t mean to wake… I just got scared and… well… nothing was in here,” stated the youth in downtrodden voice. _Nothing I want you to know about at least_ , he mentally added, his optics threatening to start blinking off and on. Mechs didn’t have tears like humans but they had their own way of crying. Generally, their optics would shiver back and forth in settings followed by vocal clicking. Personally, Bluestreak felt right now was a perfect opportunity to weep.

Ratchet stopped looking around, his systems long since informing him that there was no other life forms in the room…Though Bluestreak’s spark signal seemed a bit distorted like there was two of him. It was probably the stress, his spark reaching out for a caretaker bond though there wasn’t another one to answer back. The medic slowly sat down and in a soft voice asked, “Well, just because we didn’t see anything doesn't mean you didn’t. What did you see youngling? I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

Bluestreak wanted to state it was nothing, just a nightmare, but for some reason he knew Ratchet would just see through that or if worst came to worst… the medic would agree and leave. Thus he would be completely alone for the drone’s dinner. Freaking out and being saved by his countryman hadn’t been in the plan, and he doubted it would work again, but he was glad to have been saved from the feeding for just a little bit longer. The little slagger was fast.

“Well,” stated the medic, nearly ignoring the ping as Bluestreak shook his helm.

= _What is it?_ = the healer stated as Kup came through the communication link, the medic still petting Bluestreak's back.

= _Threaten to leave. That’ll open the kid up,_ = stated Kup as he stepped into the doorway, pretending to talk to Prowl as he had an internal conversation with the medic.

= _I’m not going to leave a mech, a youngling for that matter, alone after a night terror!_ = growled the mech.

=Just do it, an old mech knows!= added the green mech, his optics brightening.

= _Fine, slagger. Just wait for your next rust check,_ = added the medic with a growl as he turned his full attention the youth, sliding off the berth and stating in almost a cold manner, “Well, I can tell you don't want to talk about it. If you are not going to talk it, we’ll leave you to recharge. Okay.”

Prowl looked ready to protest, but Bluestreak acted first. He immediately latched onto the medic's wrist, his optics shivered as his vocals cried, “Please don’t go! I can’t be alone! He’ll get me!”

It was a floodgate after that, the clicking escaping his vocalizer in a rush and his armor fanning up and down slightly in distress. He couldn’t stop it. He was so fraggen scared. He just couldn’t stop himself from breaking down. Quickly, the young mech was all but bawling as his two hands wrapped around the mech’s wrist, begging Ratchet not to leave him all alone.

Ratchet surprisingly gave in easily, stepping back towards the berth as a comforting chirp escaped him, a hand reaching out to pull the smaller mech into a partial hug. He then rubbed Blue’s back, his psych evaluation programs writing up notes.

“And who’ll get you, Bluestreak?” asked Ratchet carefully.

Despite himself and all the stress of late, Bluestreak didn't forget himself. He couldn't tell them of the drone, but he had to say something. So … he blurted out his most crippling fear. The initial fear that had woken him that evening. “They always come asking to rest with me!”

Ratchet tightened, his optics growing dim as he noted Bluestreak’s sudden stiffness. The youth hadn’t meant to say that.

“Who comes to rest with you?” stated the medic, suddenly fearing the worst. Maybe this wasn’t just a night terror or even a glitch. This fear seemed far too mentally taxing. Bluestreaker was still a youngling, but there was still a possibility someone could have interfaced with him. Had someone taken advantage of the youngling and his mind was recollecting it? Had the Con’s raped him? Had a fellow soldier not listened to _no_? Frag, frag, frag! Rape wasn’t unheard of, but it was certainly not the easiest thing to treat. If a young mech’s first time had been forced or very painful, it would likely cause his spark to believe that interfacing was excruciating and the likability of Bluestreak ever interfacing again would become extremely unlikely. It was a hard thing to treat.

Blue just continue to sob, his voice unbidden. He hadn’t meant to say _that_ , but it had been haunting him since he had gotten the drone. Perhaps, if he just told a little of what happened in Veala he would… no, he must not tell. It hurt too much!

Ratchet swallowed, asking in a worried tone. “This … mech… that comes to rest with you. Does he want sexual things from you?”

Blue’s head popped up from its dipping pose, his voice squawking as he immediately caught Ratchet’s mental direction. “N-no! Not like that! They’re … they’re…”

The youngling went silent. He suddenly couldn’t say it, not after hiding it so long, but Ratchet was right there. Kup and Prowl were right outside of the door as well. Their blue optics were even peaking in from time to time. If he couldn't tell them, who could he tell? He couldn’t press this off anymore, but then again he had never even whispered to anyone about how he had hid among the piles of corpses for solar-cycles trying to ignore being picked up a critical and then for parts. He had recharged with corpses for days to remain alive. And even to this day … some of the corpses came to visit him in his sleep. Their grey chests serving as pillows. Then he would remember with vivid clarity how he … had … used their internals to try and stem his own bleeding, or how he had lapped up spilled energon off those corpses to keep online. Or how he had ...

“They’re … dead,” the words escaped him so easily, so simply that he himself was shocked. After that, he couldn’t keep the words in. It was like he was puking his nightmares, every word hurting as it came up his intake tubing, and yet it promised a calmness when all the contents were regurgitated for the world to see. Soon, he found himself latching onto Ratchet’s chest, blubbering details he never wanted anyone to know.

“They’re dead, every last one of them! Mech’s from the battlefield! Cons, Autobots, neutrals, whoever was in the pile! They have holes in them, missing limbs, open chests, dripping tubes, but they always ask waiting to be my pillow and pull me into a cold embrace! They always come to visit me in the dark… a-and I can’t stop them. They’re always there.”

Prowl’s optics dimmed as Bluestreak’s voice became erratic, the hall echoing his frightened tone like ghostly whispers.

Kup actually had to look away, ashamed as he whispered, “Some kind of caretaker I am. I know he’s not my charge, but I should have noticed when he got out of the berth.”

Prowl said nothing as Bluestreak's confessions became outright wails, the medic whispering calm nothings. The medic would likely stay with the young mech tonight. The youngling would probably get a sedative though. His spark rate was becoming too erratic to be healthy.

“It’s not your fault. Like you said, you are not his permanent caretaker… though if he did have one this might never have happened,” added Prowl, planting a seed for dual intentions, hoping his skill in manipulation was as good as Ratchet's.

Kup’s hands became fists and he stated, “Yes, perhaps that is true.”

Ratchet, meanwhile, watched the conversation taking place outside the door, his hand still rubbing Blue’s back as he clicked at the youth. He then pulled a needle out of his subspace and the injection was quick, the medic softly telling the distressed youth to lie down on the berth while the sedative he had just administered kicked in. He didn’t leave the youngling. He instead quickly crawled in after him, clicking like all caretakers did. Ratchet had never really been a full time caretaker himself, but he had had many cases like this which dealt with frightened younglings that did not have caretakers.

Frowning at the thought, he allowed the recharge bound youngling to clamber at him and wrap his arms around the medic’s waist, pulling the larger mech close. He then placed an audio on Ratchet's chassis to listen to his spark-beat. Ratchet really didn’t care for this part of youngling care, the cuddling at night, but Blue needed physical attachment right now… and if the look on Kup’s face was any indication, the elder mech now was on a mission. He was walking off in the direction of Prime’s chambers, his purpose rather evident.

= _You didn’t have to manipualted him Prowl,_ = stated Ratchet over the private comm link to Prowl as he pulled Blue’s head under his chin, fully encasing the smaller mech in a tight embrace. = _I know you’ve been wanting to ask him since you judged that Hot Rod was a deserter, but just asking would have been less of sore spot. Kup feels guilty now … Plus we both know you would be a far better one for Bluestreak._ =

Prowl twitched at the comm link, silent for a moment before he replied, = _I didn’t outright ask because I didn’t want to press too hard. Kup might think after Hot Rod’s abandonment that he wasn’t a positive role model. Truth is, he’s one of the best. I didn’t want to push too hard and have him deny that part of his programming_.=

= _I know he’s good, but is he as good as you? You've known the kid longer. Also, don't even bother asking … Yes, Bluestreak defiantly is going to have a full physiological exam after this. Walking nightmares and delusions are a bad sign, Prowl. I don’t think this is a glitch,_ = added the medic, feeling the sobs grow a little softer as the youngling grew less and less active.

The sedative was kicking in.

= _I’m sure you will know what to do about that, but Bluestreak needs someone to really care for him right now. Someone knowledgeable._ =

= _And why can't that knowledgeable caretaker be you, Prowl?_ = asked the medic accusingly. = _I know you care for him. Otherwise you wouldn’t have kept him under your command all these vorns.=_

Ratchet then carefully added, _=Just who does he remind you of so much of that you can't let go?_ =

Prowl said nothing, he just turned to look at Ratchet for a moment before he clicked off the lights and shut Bluestreak’s door. Ratchet frowned for a moment at the lack of reply, but busied himself with Bluestreak who was now trying to remain awake. The elder mech quickly whispered into the youth's audio before Blue finally just gave in, his optics completely offlining. The medic sighed, glad for this one won battle. Then, looking around the room for a moment for something akin to walking corpses, the medic decided there was nothing threatening in the room and offlined his own optics, cycling down for recharge.

Little did he know, that right below the berth a pair of red optics shifted, worried. A drone then curled up into a ball under the berth wondering about the nightmares of his young master. He then promised his young master that if there were indeed any walking-dead coming to visit them he would chase every single one away.

He was still hungry though… slaggen medic.

 


	6. Silver Lining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-klick: Second ; Klick: Minute ; Groon: Hour ; Joor: Day ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller-Cycle: Year ; Vorn: 83 years.

Ratchet shifted, the youngling instinctively curling closer, clingy even.

The medic sighed. He had been up since the sun had risen, yet he was still trapped in this berth with the youngling treating him like a pillow. Generally, given his personality, he would have booted the other out or just left, but he could tell that the youth hadn’t had a good recharge in probably an orn and that was troubling. He’d remain until the youth woke on his own-

= _Ratchet? Are you awake_?= came over the com link.

-Or until he had viable excuse to leave. Please be someone bleeding to death. Please be someone bleeding to death.

= _Yes, do you need me?_ = asked the medic, ready to pry himself away and leave the youth to recharge on his lonesome. He knew he shouldn’t sneak off, but he just couldn’t stay in one place. He needed to work, frag it! Who else was going to fix anything around here?

= _No. No, stay with the youngling, old friend. He needs you. I just wanted you to know that a decision has been made this morning. Kup has accept Bluestreak as a charge. You can still tell he misses Hot Rod though_ ,= stated the Prime over the link.

 _Prowl would still be better_ was the medic’s private thoughts, but instead he commed, = _Good. Do you need me to make sure all his caretaker protocols are up to date? I can be there in a moment_.=

The Prime chuckled over the line, his voice amused, = _Come now, Ratchet. You work too hard. Enjoy the morning off… sleep in as Sam would say.=_

The medic groaned, his helm clanging back down onto the berth. In response, the youngling merely curled closer to him. The medic sighed at the reaction. He knew it was because Bluestreak was seeking out the comfort of a mature spark, one to listen to. He understood the clinginess. It didn’t mean he had to like it. A good berth side manner wasn’t his strong point anyway. He was called the Hatchet for a reason.

Regardless, he sighed softly through his vents and shifted so that he pulled the youth closer. Bluestreak was a really a good kid. Ratchet knew he might not be all warm and fuzzy, but he did care. Soon, Blue would have his needed upgrades and would be safe from any glitches.

He vowed his medical programing on it.

A while later, recharge programs fulfilled, Bluestreak sat up with a start, falling off the berth with a slight screech of surprise a nano-klick. _Someone had touched him_.

Ignoring his now sore backside, Bluestreak looked up thinking it was one of the deactivated or maybe the drone, but instead he was met by large blue optics and a frown as the mech looked down at him in turn. The gunner even reset his optics twice until he realized that it was Ratchet looking at him.

“Youngling, are you alright? I didn’t mean to scare you. Come on, get up. It’s already late. Mid-afternoon actually. The others are all up,” stated the medic as he stood up and headed for the door, standing in the doorway as he waited for the youth with the frown.

Well, someone was cranky.

Pulling himself up, plating popping into place as he stretched cabling, Bluestreak stood there a moment, confused. Why was Ratchet in his suite? No other adults ever stayed with him. Unless… unless he had … Oh yeah, he had had a small breakdown last night.

_Frag!_

Frowning, the first words out of his vocals were, “I’m so sorry, Ratchet. You didn’t have to spend the night… it was just... you know… I thought…”

“There is no need to apologize, youngling. In fact, I’m a little upset you didn’t tell anyone sooner… I doubt you’ll be spending another night alone for a while,” added the medic as he gestured towards the door, waving a hand to the exit. “Come on, Kid. We’ve got a surprise for you.”

Bluestreak swallowed. Knowing all too well that a surprise from Ratchet probably meant a virus update, but nonetheless… he liked the attention. It kept the drone away and it made him feel safe.

He hadn’t felt safe in a long time.

Swallowing at the prospect of the unknown, he went ahead regardless, Ratchet placing a hand on his shoulder. This could either be something really bad or…

A few moments later, there were voices, echoing, bellowing… and happy. There was joy in that air and for a moment, as Bluestreak stepped into the rec. room, he almost expected some of the deactivated (some of his happiest moments with souls long past) to all be in the same room, sharing drinks, laughs and bad jokes… like a war had never been.

Optics adjusting to the light, he saw many figures: caretakers and friends, all of which turned their attention to him. He liked attention, he truthfully did, but at the same time he almost felt unaccustomed to it like he didn’t know how to react.

Bowing his helm, he stated almost sheepishly, “Am I late? Because if I am, I didn’t do it on purpose. You see I was sleeping and I didn’t remember getting a memo. Otherwise I wouldn’t be sleeping and I would be here, not late, since you all are staring at me. That is why I presume you are staring. I don’t have something on my paint job, do I, because…”

Optimus, who generally wouldn’t interrupted the young gunner, knew that this could go on for groons if he didn’t do something right now. So he put up a hand and instantly stalled the youth’s tangent. The large mech then put a hand on Blue’s back, noting that the youth almost twitched when he touched the space between the door wings. Perhaps Ratchet's report held more weight then he thought.

Moving the servo to the youngling's shoulder, the Prime stated, “Calm yourself, Bluestreak. We wanted you to rest. You are not late. Besides, the guest of honor cannot be late.”

The youth blinked, surprised. He was about to speak again when he noticed that Optimus’ armor was gleaming and there were golden decorations on his helm, higher chest and hands. It was then that he realized what was going on. A Prime, originally the species' spiritual leader, would only wear gold tinted colors during ceremonies. Of course, along with the Primus’ Grand Hall, all those traditions were gone with Cybertron’s life blood. So, the gold decor might have seemed bland compared to days long past, but at that moment it was as if Primus himself was standing before him.

“Optimus? What’s going on?”

The titan laughed softly, a chuckle, and led the youth to the middle of the room, addressing everyone while his gaze fell on a stiff Kup.

“It has come to my attention that you have not been getting the needs that a youngling requires,” stated Optimus, his boisterous voice echoing.

Struggling to put on a smile, the youth stated, “I’m a soldier. I don’t-”

“Hush youngling,” grumbled Kup as he came up to the youth and patted him on the shoulder. “Listen to what the mech’s going to do for you. You are good kid. You deserve a blessing from a Prime.”

Nodding, lifting up a large hand, he rubbed his thumb over the Cybertronain text on Blue’s helm. Said text was carved into the helm as all mechs and femmes over time. Such text had ones’ true name. It was like a list honestly for a mech’s true name seemed to change with every bond formed. Since Bluestreak was created by the Allspark, that was the first carving laid upon his helm, and under that creators or caretakers would be place below it as a permanent mark.

None of his previous caretakers had had true bonds so this would be his … first real caretaker. Bluestreak almost broke down into a sob as Optimus rubbed the blank space fondly and then stated, “As the line of Primus, a Prime, here today I will present a etching and you all will bear witness as I bestow this mark on our companion’s true name. No longer will he have to worry about a barren spot in his spark where a caretaker would shelter, teach, and protect for today I bestow a Guardian to take up that title. Do you accept the new mark and the bonds and relationships that come with it from caregiver Kup, by a Prime’s blessing?”

Bluestreak was almost shaking as every optic stared at him, waiting for his reply. His vocals actually hiccuped, the situation was so surreal. It was like he had been praying to Primus his whole life for something and just when he had given up on it… it was given to him. Part of him was kind of angry that it had taken so long, but the other half just wanted to cry and cry and cry. It was so wonderful. He never knew he’d ever be blessed like this.

Kup just patted his shoulder and whispered, “Give Prime your answer, kid. Nod your head if you have to. I won’t be offended if yah say no.”

Taking his hand away from his optics, the glass shivering from bright to black as if he was crying, Bluestreak looked up at the softly smiling Kup and then blubbered, “Of course, I-I want you as a-a care-caretaker.”

The old mech chuckled softly as he came forward to give the youngling a hug, part of him noticing the strange lump tween the door wings. Bluestreak even went a little stiff before he was released from the embrace. Then, he turned his attention back to Optimus.

Slowly, the youth nodded his head, unable to say the words.

Yes, he wanted a caretaker. Usually, there was more of an introduction for these type of ceremonies, but this wasn't Cybertron anymore.

Optimus just smiled at that and cupped the youngling’s chin, directing the head upward so he’d have a good angle to finish this. Prowl quickly came up to Optimus, a small gold band on his one arm. It signified that he was a symbolic attendant such as a temple priest though all of Primus’ priests had been gone for a long time. With steady hands, Prowl quickly opened up a decorative tin that looked like it had gold paint in it. Then, dipping a finger in, Optimus smoothly lifted his servo and drew a symbol on the blank helm metal. It was the mark that would be later carved by a medic, aka Ratchet.

In the past the carving was done on the spot, but after a few faintings and helm injuries, a qualified medic was allowed the right to carve the etchings. There was a reason medics were also know as the Hands of Primus.

Pulling away from the now blubbering youngling who no longer knew if he was crying because of sorrow or joy. Kup, meanwhile, took a step forward. Then, right below the symbol for Hot Rod and the many other names above that one for his past charges, Optimus took the same paint and smoothly placed a symbol for Bluestreak. Kup held his chin high and proud.

Optimus merely nodded when he was done. Secretly, the Prime was glad Kup came to him last night with the request to be instated as a guardian. It would be good for both of them, _especially_ since Hot Rod was likely to be coming back. The racer had abandoned his caretaker, and though Kup refused to acknowledge it, Hot Rod was technically a traitor for abandoning the cause. Why he had left the old mech, no one knew, but it honestly didn’t matter anymore.

Kup seemed happy for the first time since coming to Earth, especially when the old mech then pulled the blubbering youngling into a tighter hug and promised to everyone and Primus himself, “I shall shelter, teach, and protect this child of Primus from this day forward… even when he thinks himself too old for me.”

A chuckle echoed over the crowd and then Prime proudly proclaimed, “I bestow my blessing then on this spiritual bond. May Primus bless you, Kup, with a youngling you never had and Bluestreak, with a parental bond you’ve never known before.”

Then, to start the bond, Kup pulled the youngling into another hug, his spark throwing an EM filed outward as Ratchet hooked up a hard line connection so caretaker and youngling programs could be activated. Bluestreak accepted both gladly his own EM field answering to it. It would take about half a vorn, but one day it would be a full caretaker bond.

The party was wonderful after that. Thankfully, Ratchet got a little drunk so the carving was held off until tomorrow, but Bluestreak couldn’t help but think a human word every time Kup slapped him on the shoulder and called him a good kid. Tonight, he had a father. Yes, there’d still be pain and suffering and fear, but now… he wasn’t as alone anymore.

…

Blue burrowed his head a little deeper into the crook of Kup’s neck and chassis. He could smell the high-grade and cy-gars all over the older mech, but he did not find it the least bit unpleasant. He was just glad that he now had a guardian and that they’d room together, keeping the nightmares at bay and slowly forming a bond.

He smiled at that.

He had lots of unofficial caretakers but never had he ever gotten to form a caretaker bond with any of them. The bond would connect their sparks together like brother bonds or twin bonds. It was a way to always know where each other was. It also pressed off loneliness and fear.

It was safe.

He smiled at this as Kup mumbled something and curled his chin on the top of Blue’s helm, making him want to weep again in joy. He had an adoptive parent… or the Cybertronain equivalent of it. Nothing could ruin today, even with Kup half-drunk, the mech now passed out and snoring.

Click. Click.

Except for that.

Bluestreak’s optics flew open, his spark now focusing away from the first steps in a developing bond with Kup. Instead, he focused on his symbiot’s forming bond. He slowly sat up, his spark just knowing where to look in the dark. Slowly, as the scorpion opened each of his red eyes, the room was set aglow by Scorponok’s many optics.

The pest pressed into the bond, feeling Kup’s fledgling bond for a moment as if confused. Kup himself twitched on the berth from the intrusion, but didn't wake. Looking away from the green mech, Scorponok gazed at Bluestreak and whirred.

He was hungry, still, and was sorry for scaring him, but he was so hungry.

Bluestreak glared down at the parasite, his wings twitching. It was not going to feed off of him. No, no way in the pit. Yet, the more he stared at those begging optics the more he felt relation to the bug. Scorponok had been an orphan when Blackout had died and Blue had been one up until now as well.

It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have to be burdened like this, but neither could he let it starve either. He had gotten someone to take care of him… maybe he could take care of the Con as well. Just not so… personally. Sighing, the youth looked around his room, wondering what he should do. Then a thought struck him.

Leaning down as if speaking to a small child, trying not to stir Kup who had rolled over, Bluestreak asked wearily, “So … you’re hungry?”

Scorponok’s part of the bond seemed to jump in excitement and want, his tail wagging. He then quickly chirped and ran around in a circle like a dog ready to fetch a stick.

Bluestreak nodded, taking that as an answer, “I’ll take that as a _yes_. O-okay, um, just follow me.”

The drone stopped wagging his tail … what? Why did master want him to follow? He had had a long trip and was hungry. Master’s quarters were secure, the new caretaker was overcharged and in recharge, and master wasn’t low so he didn’t need to refuel just yet. So… why were they heading to the rec. room? Yes, that was where master was telling him to go as he crept down to the floor, opening the door. True, there was no one there anymore, especially at this hour after a party that had high grade … but … certainly not!

He didn’t have the systems for raw energon consumption!

Yet, that was where they ended up and the grey mech kindly patted a bench that was attached to a table, telling the drone to come and sit here. Well, it was nice to be treated so kindly, to even get to sit at the table, but the sinking feeling only increased as Blue brought two cubes to the table, a pipe sticking out of one like a straw. The scorpion-bot wilted. He really didn’t want to force this, especially since the youngling was in such a warm mood and trying so hard to take care of him now… but it had to be done.

Staying still as the mech petted him on the head, the scorpion-bot allowing the bond to open a little. He received feelings of acceptance and warmth through the bond. Enjoying the attention, Scorponok tried to crawl into his lap while curling a tail around the youth’s back. He stalled his tail though from plugging in when Blue’s smile capture him completely.

He could wait … this was nice. This was really nice. It almost reminded him of his still moments with Blackout… when the other would pet him and preen his armor, the two basking in each others company. So, for now, he would listen to his Master ramble on about having a caretaker, this Kup, and how happy he was to have someone to take care of him.

Well, he was the first to care though, but he’d put up with Kup if it made master happy.

He liked having the youngling happy, like right now. The bond was so warm. So perfect… he could wait, he just wanted to be petted and cared for. He didn’t realize how alone the both of them had been until they finally connected.

He could wait. He’d gone hungry before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well Blue, I’d say that’s a good day for you… but not really for Scorponok. Just how long can he go hungry for? And Prowl… we all know you wanted the title of guardian. Why didn’t you stand up for the title? Eh, where would the fun be in that. We need the angst after all. XD


	7. Starving

Scorponok shivered and balled up tighter. Bluestreak, while Kup was out barking at one of the other mechs no doubt, had carefully pulled up some of the metal flooring and walls and created a secret door to his borrow of sorts under the floor. That was where the drone was currently.

It had been very nice the last two weeks under the floor boards and in the berthroom when Kup was on duty.

Bluestreak was a kind master. He groomed him and patched any injures he could see and talked to him.

The kid talked all the time actually. Regardless, Bluestreak was kind. Not all of the drone’s masters had been kind. In fact, Bluestreak kind of reminded him of Blackout when he would lay in the giant mech’s lap and be warmed by the other’s engine, tail lazily hanging off the side. He did the same thing with Blue, except the kid’s heat was wondrous because he was so cold.

He needed to conserve energy even though he was so _hungry_ …

The new master’s connection was growing stronger every day and so was his compassion, placing blankets and little trinkets in his burrow so he would have something to do while the youngling was on duty or with Kup. That was something Scorponok didn’t want to risk breaking with a forced feeding.

He no longer had the spark to.

Some of the things the kid told him … or told Kup when he woke up from a nightmare, the older mech having gotten his own berth in the room but rarely allowed to sleep in it alone, made Scorponok’s protective mannerisms all the stronger. His little master didn’t deserve to suffer anymore.

And he wasn’t going to make him.

Even if he had to suffer for a while. His master would mind his feeding protocols eventually. Right?

Primus, he was so _hungry_ …

…

Bluestreak yawned, his door wings stretching. He didn’t move them much anymore. He unknowingly kept them drawn against his back as if to protect the port in his back even though he knew it was hidden. The youngling stalled at the thought. Protect? No, no. He was hiding the hole, not protecting it. He didn’t even need the thing anymore. Scorponok seemed content with Blue placing cubes in his burrow as long as the gunner would take time to allow him to curl up in his lap. The drone loved that. Loved being petted, groomed and close to him even though he was dopey as of late.

The youngling frowned at that. Now that he thought about it, the drone had been cold as well. Did he need a little heater down there or something in the dirt he loved so much? He would have said something through the bond, right?

The youngling shook his helm as he locked his room so the drone could come out, having set up a motion detector outside the door so he could unlock it for Kup if the mech was coming his way while leaving it locked so everyone else had to knock. He did this because he didn’t want the older mech to feel unwelcomed with a lock though, with how fast the bond was forming, he doubted the mech would feel angry.

Just suspicious.

Kup kept asking where the dirt on the floor was coming from.

The youngling shook his head, thinking of how the drone must roll around in his burrow and how far the network of tunnels had gotten under the base. Primus knows if he was allowed free rein, if the Autobots didn’t despise mechs that carried drones, Scorponok could become quite the pit-raiser with that network.

Blue smiled at the thought of the small drone tripping everyone in base, cackling, and then diving back into his network as mechs like Ironhide or Ratchet would rise to their feet cursing. It was a nice daydream that would likely never come true, but at least he had had one dream that came true recently. He got a Guardian, a Caretaker.

He shouldn’t be pressing the fates for too much right now with whimsical daydreams.

Maybe if the war ever ended or maybe if Scorponok wasn’t dependent on him he could harbor such thoughts, maybe then. Maybe, if drones didn’t have to feed off others or got a voice of their own? Maybe then drones wouldn't be so despised. Yes, one day. One day, perhaps, he wouldn’t have to hide his small companion.

His friend, Scorponok.

Smiling at the thought, Bluestreak silently thanked Primus for his good luck -though a little twisted- in offering him not just a guardian right now, but a secret friend as well ... though the introduction had been anything but pleasant. Shaking off the thought of that night in the desert, the youngling looked at the door. Quickly sending a ping to it to make sure it was locked and that the sensor was up, the small mech pressed into the bond that was forming between him and the scorpion-bot. He was letting the drone know that it was okay to come out.

Walking across the floor, frowning at the dirt getting into his treads from the floor, Bluestreak shook his head. He loved the drone, really he did, but every time Scorponok came up from the burrow the drone would shake off his soil covered exterior like a dog and it would get everywhere.

 _Everywhere_.

Kup had frowned the first few times he wandered into the room, asking where Bluestreak was rolling around to get all this dirt on him. Blue only laughed nervously and said he was a youngling. Youngling's get dirty.

Kup had laughed at that.

The youth smiled at the thought.

Kup was great. Rough around the edges, definitely, but always well rounded. He made sure Bluestreak practice daily with his weapons, but also took time to teach him basic maintenance from the security system to data pads. Some of it he already knew, a lot actually, but to think he had struggled to learn most of these things on his own when he could have had someone teach him. It was a little disheartening to thinking of the past, but now, things were better … especially when recharge came. They had separate berths but most of the time he was curled up with Kup, listening to the elder spark as it beat with caring and knowledge. It was nice, comforting, safe, but Kup was busy and a soldier … so when he wasn’t there … he had Scorponok.

The first time he had had to recharge alone without Kup, fear crawling towards him like ghostly black servo from the shadows, Scorponok was in his berth without even asking and that night he listened to the drone’s spark.

A bond of love and need was forming there and, in truth, Blue didn’t think he could live without either one of them. His spark hadn’t been this warm since … before the war.

He was loved.

Someone actually cared about him.

It was the best and most frightening feeling in the all the world and he never wanted to be alone again.

Ever again.

Smiling at the thought of curling up for a cat-nap (as Sam call it) with Scorponok sounded like a good plan for his short break, yet the drone had yet to rise from his dark little encampment. At first, Bluestreak wasn’t worried since the drone might be recharging. The scorpion-bot had been doing that a lot lately.

Shaking his head, laugh in his throat, the small mech got on his hands and knees near the vent on the floor. He then pushed a chest out of the way that he used as camouflage for the den and then pealed up some of the loose metal tiles and grating on the floor so he could peer down at his companion. Yet, as the flooring was removed and set to the side, Blue had to sit there for a moment, staring. He could see Scorponok napping there, all his optics closed yet… he couldn’t feel him. These feeling of connection had been developing since he had accepted his drone. He almost always felt the drone when he was near. In fact, Bluestreak was sure that one day they would both always know were the other was, no matter how far they were apart.

Looking at the drone, Bluestreak started to feel sick. He didn’t know if he felt sick because Scorponok had yet to move or because the sick feeling was coming from the small companion. Worry creeping into his spark, the youngling reached down and shook the ex-Con. “Hey, hey, wake up.”

A leg didn’t even twitch on the scorpion-bot.

Swallowing, suddenly afraid, the youngling's vocals squeaked, “Scorponok? P-please move.”

There was a moment of stillness and Bluestreak asked again, almost panicked, “Please?”

The horror of the situation was suddenly overcoming the youthful spark, especially when he reached out into the bond … and knew what was wrong. The bond was faint, like it was about to be severed. Like one of them was dying.

_The drone was dying. His drone, his new friend was dying._

The youngling couldn't stop the sob that came out of his throat as he reached down and pulled the scorpion-bot out of the hole, struggling to pull the drone up due to his bulk. The drone's tail didn't even twitch.

Shivering, pulling the drone into a hug, his optics shivering on and off, the gunner choked, “P-please. What’s wrong? Tell me. I’ll fix it.”

Then, it happened, the bond wavering and weak ... the drone clicked, only once and then was still.

Shaking his head at the weak display, a click escaped the youngling as well as he hugged the bot’s head. Something was terribly wrong. Something was very wrong. He needed to go to Ratchet. He needed to get the drone to someone that would help the little bot.

Not even thinking it through, Blue started towards the door only to stop halfway there.

_No, no._

They would just kill the drone and … probably imprison him. That was what was done to traitors. At best they would label him as a Con and banish him. Either way, it would be the end of his life in one sense or another.

“Please don’t die,” whispered the youngling despite all the horrors the drone’s existence could cause for him. He couldn’t wait nor could he take it to Ratchet, but he couldn’t let Scorponok die either. The past Primes were against him and Primus had left him abandoned in his struggles… as usual.

Swallowing hard, the tubing in his throat tightening, the youngling was just about to start panicking, which he knew he shouldn’t do because his spark’s stress might alerting Kup to his trials. Yet, just as the youngling was about to collapse on his knees and blubber into the drone’s still form, the door sensor started pinging meaning someone was coming his way.

Tapping into the system wirelessly, the youngling swore like Ironhide. He promised to hate Primus if this ended badly, because it was Kup and Prowl heading his way.

“No, no, no!” whispered the youth as he hugged the drone tighter. He couldn’t deal with them right now. Something was wrong with Scorponok. Really, really wrong and the scorpion-bot was probably dying. In fact, he was positive the other was deactivating with how weak the spark felt in the bond. A small part of him, realizing the drone’s mortality, just wanted to keep standing there with the ex-Con in his arms as the two older mech’s came in. Part of him wanted to whimper and cry to them, begging for them to do something.

They both cared about him, right?

Right?

Yet, just as he was about to decide on that course of action, a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him: _But only Decepticon’s have drones._

So, as the door opened, Kup walking into the room, the two mech’s weren’t greeted with the sight of an upset youngling with a drone in his arms. They merely saw a youngling that was resting silently on his berth.

The green mech actually smiled softly at that. “Good to see he’s getting’ some rest on his own. I don’t mind that we share a berth at night or nothin’ with the bond formin’ and everything, but he can’t seem to sleep alone. He actually waits for me.”

Prowl frowned at this, his wings twitching slightly before he nodded. “I’m glad to hear he’s recharging better and I will see if I can schedule it so you both can recharge at the same time, but, I must ask … has he said anything else about what he has nightmares about. About the dead speaking to him I mean?”

Kup, who was about to pull out a cy-gar, frowned and stated softly, “I can feel the fear sometimes, through the bond, but he doesn’t really tell me what they are about.”

Nodding, Prowl stated softly, “The bond is young. It’s only been about a little over two weeks. Now, let’s wake up the dreamer. We need all the speed we can get if we want to catch him.”

Bluestreak struggled not to tighten his wings or shiver or click as the two mechs stepped completely into the room, their conversation behind him. What was he going to do? He could not let them take him on a mission, for that was why they were undoubtedly here, because he had to do something for Scorponok. He had to take care of the little one. It was his responsibility. M-maybe he could play sick and get out of the mission, but then he would be sent to Ratchet’s and he’d be just as useless to Scorponok. Frag, frag, frag. What was he going to do?

Kup’s croaking stalled all thoughts in the youngling’s head though as the lights came on.

“Lights forty percent.”

A dim light overcame the room and the green mech took a step forward only to stall when there was a crunching noise underfoot. “What the… dirt? More dirt. Kid… Ugh, Primus. I swear the kid rolls around it in or somethin’. It’s always on the floor.”

Prowl, looking away from the still form on the berth, wondering why the youngling hadn’t roused with the lights coming on, stared at the dirt on the floor. It looked like a combination of gravel, cement bits and recently dug up soil, like what the base had been placed on. That was odd.

Leaning down, picking up a small sample and looking at it with magnification, he asked simply, “Where is all the dirt coming from?”

“Don’t know, but I tell him to sweep but it always comes back. I guess younglings are younglings even if they are soldiers. At least I don't have to tell him to take a bath,” said Kup as he walked forward to wake up his charge.

Prowl stood, sub-spacing the sample for future reference.

“Regardless, wake him. We need speed if we are going to catch Barricade,” said Prowl, his optics shimmering as he looked at the dirt on the floor and how it led to the only vent in the room and not, say, around the bed where normal foot traffic should be.

Kup touched Bluestreak’s shoulder as the grey mech roused. There was fear in his optics, but the green mech didn't mention it as he said, “Come on trooper. We have Cons to kill.”

It was likely a nightmare again.

Prowl frowned at the kill comment, but said nothing. It was a capture mission if they could.

Bluestreak merely nodded stating, “Yeah… kill.”

Grabbing a cube of energon, even though he already had two in his sub-space for emergencies, the youngling spared the vent a glance before he followed the older mechs outside. He needed those cubes … as a bargaining tool. A hungry Con would probably be willing to make _deals_.

…

“Fraggen slagger!” cursed Ironhide as the enforcer got low on his rim and barely outraced an eighteen wheeler’s sliding trailer, sparks flying.

Bumblebee merely snickered at his elder and rushed forward, slipping right under the trailer. He laughed even harder when his caretraker was forced to stop since the interstate was blocked off by a pile up caused by Barricade slamming into a Neon. Instead, the yellow youngling cried over the comm link, _::Come on Blue. Let’s get this slagger!::_

 _::Bumblebee, language:_ : barked the youth’s guardian through the comms as he tried to get out of the traffic jam.

 _::You do it all the time!::_ laughed back the yellow mech as he flew under another trailer, not even throwing up sparks like Barricade had in the same move. The enforcer was getting old and sloppy it seemed.

 _::Don’t patronize me, kid::_ barked the black mech, before he added. _::I commed Optimus. He and Hatchet will try and cut old Cade off from the other side of town. You two see if you can get ‘im cornered in a parking garage or somethin’. Me and Kup will be goin’ around.::_

Blue slid under the semi-trailer a moment later following Bee, getting low on his shocks. He didn't even uttered a word as Kup braked next to a trapped Ironhide in his alt form, the entire interstate now in disarray. The real cops’ sirens could be heard in the distance.

 _::Ready for some off roadin’::_ joked the green jeep as he turned into the interstate's ditch.

Ironhide grunted. _::Sure thing… and don’t worry about the kid. He's got Bee with him.::_

 _::I’m not going to be babyin’ him on missions::_ barked Kup as the two jumped the ditch, rumbling through a neighboring parking lot while dodging parked cars. : _:Just ‘cause I’m his caretaker doesn’t mean I will be holden his hand all the time in battle now. He was a soldier long before I started making sure he takes his daily nutrients … or vitamins as Samuel would say.::_

Ironhide chuckled, recalling the day when Bumblebee told the human about caretaker bonds and that it hadn’t been strange for Bumblebee to cuddle with his caretaker, Ironhide. He had said there was wasn’t anything odd or homosexual about it. Not that mechs and femmes genders were limited like humans anyway.

Besides… Ironhide had a girl.

Annabelle.

Everyone had laughed at that and Sam had gone home out of embarrassment alone ... though he claimed his face was always this red.

 _::That’s not what I meant. Everyone noticed how quiet he was today. He’ll tell you what’s bothering him when the kid wants to::_ said the Top-kick. _::Blue can only stay quiet for so long. You’ve only been with him a short time and ya’ already know he’s a chatter box. He can’t keep it in too long without explodin’.::_

Cutting off a granny car, not caring that the woman was probably too blind to have even noticed Kup had forgotten to turn on his holo-driver on until just then, the green mech sighed _::I know it, but I feel it’s something really bad through the forming bond. I can’t help but wonder why he hasn’ come to me yet. That’s what I'm here for. His assurance, his caretaker.::_

The black mech chuckled under his hood, engine revving. _::Yah know kids… bad might mean havin’ to go to Ratchet for something he broke on himself.::_

Despite himself, Kup chortled though he deeply doubted that was the problem.

Meanwhile, up the turnpike, around a K-Mart parking lot, through a rather shifty neighborhood and a Burger King drive through, the two younglings where catching up to Barricade. And the Con was getting _nervous_. It wasn’t that he was a coward or anything of the like. In truth, he had been mauled rather badly the day Megatron had been deactivated in Mission City. He couldn't take a beating right now. Not after being T-Boned by a damn Volkswagen and then a fifteen car pileup.

Damn VW. He hated those things. Really, he might have died of embarrassment, but somehow Frenzy pulled his head back together and came and saved his aft from the crusher. He had been too dinged and heavily damaged to do much more than sit there and try to heal his innards.

It had been a long and painful recovery. It also left him half-starved because the energon had been bleeding out of his wounds and into the dirt in that shifty junkyard. Not that he wanted to remember that horrid place. The junkyard itself was frightening in a way. He hadn’t told Frenzy but sometimes he had nightmares about it … that he was resting with the dead. In truth, he knew it was human cars that surrounded him. They never even had a spark, but still … it haunted him like a ghost in his backseat.

He did not want to end up there again, surround by questionable metallic corpses yet here he was… two little brats coming up behind him. He was still crippled, still low on energy and Megatron wasn’t coming back to save his aft or distract the Prime. It was now a time to survive. It was now a time to run… _himself right into a corner_.

“Primus! God Dammit! Slagger!” swore Barricade as he slid to a stop, tires throwing up hot rubber. “Why the pit doesn’t this have a dead end sign!”

Slamming himself into reverse, the enforcer was about to make a mad dash for the end of the alley, yet as he pushed his tires, rubber burning … lights flashed over his form. Headlights … with an Autobot signal attached. Shivering in his frame, knowing he was dinged and dented and that this was going to hurt as a consequence, Barricade transformed and brought out his flail, the cement cracking under his weapon’s weight as he tried not to shudder in pain.

_He would not die today._

He would fight to the bitter end, yet as the youngling transformed, headlight dimmed revealing it was the young gunner and not the irritating yellow one. The Con then heard something he never expected to.

“Barricade… please,” whispered the grey mech. “Stop… I won’t hurt you. I just need to talk.”

Barricade was sure his face might have been hilarious too look upon because he was completely befuddled. “What?”

Slowly, the Autobot lowered his arms, guns still not drawn, and then the gunner did something most unexpected. He got on his knees and bowed his head in defeat as he continued to beg, his optics shivering in a sign of emotional distress. “Please… I need your help… he’s dying and I don’t know what to do.”

Slowly walking forward, blade popping out of his wrist as he threw his scanners around the alley and roofs for a trap, the Con placed an energon blade under the youngling’s chin. He forced the youngling to look up, his red optics boring into the Autobot’s blue ones. “Who’s dying and why should I care?”

Door wings shivering, a click of distress in his throat, the youngling whispered, “I know you are short on supplies… I can give you almost anything you require. Just help me... Scorponok’s… dying. I don’t know what to do. Please … Help me.”

Barricade almost smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Barricade. I love him so much


	8. Lessons

“Bluestreak,” came a voice from behind the gunner, the grey mech almost balking as he turned around to see the medic prowling towards him.

The youngling had to swallow, wondering if he had been caught stealing energon. Part of him wondered if he should just give in and end it all now … but he was too afraid. He was too afraid of the pain of slowly being taken apart for pieces. The first time had already been enough.

The first time had been enough …

_'This ones a gonner. Put him over there near the other deactivated on arrivals. Leave the berth for a bot we can actually save. He'll be bled out in a groon. We need groons to fix that much damage.'_

_'B-but he's just a youngling. I told him … it was going to be okay,' said the soldier that had dragged him to the makeshift medical bay. The mech that had whispered the whole way that he was going to be okay. Blue's systems were half locked and he couldn't even reply … he couldn't even cry out at the energon-covered medics judgment._

_This wasn't happening. The soldier-mech said it was going to be okay. He promised. He promise! He wanted to live._

_His optic could barely powerup though, he couldn't even twitch as his HUD struggled to reboot, but even he knew that the medic was frowning as he shook his helm. 'I doubt he's even online right now. That helm damage looks pretty bad. He's probably not even aware of himself anymore. He probably didn't even hear you. Now, I know its hard soldier, but put him in the pile. A young bot like that would have never survived this war anyway.'_

_Bluestreak was then lifted of the berth he had just been put so carefully on, the young bot screaming out in his head that he was alive. He was alive. He was online … and then he was slowly put next to other graying and grayed-out corpses._

_The mech that had carried him then whispered, 'I'm sorry kid.'_

Bluestreak quickly blinked back the flashback as the medic stepped before him, giving him a critical gaze as a light scan fell over his frame. He tried not to cringe back or choke up given the quick flashback. He couldn't afford to be weak right now. Not when Scorponok needed him.

“I’ve been looking for you, Bluestreak,” said Ratchet, still giving him an benignant look. “I finally got some free time and I need to check you and Bumblebee’s systems. We will be getting some excess … _materials_ … and maybe both of you can get an upgrade.”

The grey youngling seemed to wilt even though Ratchet was smiling softly as he tried to be supportive, his EM field flickering over the young bot for a moment. Honestly, he was just happy that he could upgrade the needing youngling so soon. He still couldn’t believe that Bluestreak was so behind on his maintenance and wasn't glitching.

Taking a step back, his helm tilted downwards slightly, the youngling swallowed and sought out his forming connection with Scorponok. He knew there would be no reply from the probably dying drone, but he did so as a reminder. He could not dally.

Biting the soft metal of his lip with his front denta at the very thought, the youngling replied, “T-then I’ll go find B-bumblebee.”

The medic, now basically on top of the youngling as if assessing the shorter frame, raised a metal brow as he looked down on the youth.

“That won’t be necessary. Ironhide dragged him into the medical bay after the Barricade chase… ‘Con slagger is slippery. Regardless, with news that I’ll be getting some supplies soon I decided to start some minor maintenance if not the entire upgrades now. _Before_ I have too many idiots to take care of,” said the medic, noting how the younger mech seemed to want to wilt away and into the floor. Bluestreak had always seemed a little weary of Ratchet, but now he was acting almost jumpy. If the behavior still persisted in a few weeks, Ratchet needed to have a sit down with the youth. He needed to make him understand that, as a medic, Ratchet was not going to hurt him. He might have a terrible berthside manner, but he would never willingly hurt one of his patients.

Regardless, he wasn't going to back off just because the youngling was obviously uncomfortable around medics. Those upgrades needed to start now, especially Bluestreak so he could get a grasp on the youth's psychological health. Kup had promised to report any waking nightmares or hallucinations, but that still didn't answer if it was the feedback from a glitch or a mental trauma. Either way, Kup thankfully was keeping an optic on any irregularities. The old caretaker was a godsend for this terrible case of neglect. In fact, after Ratchet had mentioned Bluestreak's desperate upgrade needs, Kup almost became possessed with finding an solution. He honestly would have made sure Barricade was deactivated today if only he could have caught him. He would have done so merely so Bluestreak could have the parts.

Kup was a trooper. The thought of cannibalized parts did not haunt him like most mechs.

So, instead, the old bot marched over to Prime’s office and demanded a mission to look for the Deception’s bases in order to gather supplies. Ratchet, knowing that temporary bases would likely have little in supplies, let it slip about the bodies in Mariana Trench. They could have used the metal at least. Saying so quickly trigger Kup's caretaker proticals had triggered something, and that was why Ratchet was looking hopeful. After much persistence, Optimus was able to convince the American Government to reclaim the bodies from the ocean floor… all except Megatron.

That was too taboo.

_And they would properly dispose of them._

He doubted Prime told them they were going to cannibalize parts, though he doubted the humans would think of that as taboo considering they had auto-shops in every town in America.

So, instead of running around blind, Prowl and Kup went to dredge the bodies up from the murky depths … and to threaten each other apparently. It was no secret now, with how often Prowl would ask Kup of Bluestreak’s condition, that the SiC cared and there was bound to be words between the two sooner or later.

Ratchet still wanted to know why Prowl hadn’t accepted the duty of being Blue’s caretaker. Perhaps Kup could get something out of the other mech as to why he didn’t even consider the position. It wasn’t like they were in the middle of a battlefield. Earth was rather pacified at the moment. Perfect for a developing bond.

Regardless, with the look Blue was giving him, Ratchet might have to wait for Kup to return … because the youngling was slowly taking a step back. Just like a squirmy Bumblebee.

“Oh no, you don’t!” barked the medic just as the kid turned ready to run, the elder mech grabbing for a wrist. “You need a checkup.”

Bluestreak proved too mobile though, tripping backwards as he squeaked, “I-I promised to take one of … uh… Bumblebee’s shifts. I can’t right now! Bye!”

Watching the kid skip backwards and then dash off, the medic was almost tempted to take pursuit, but did not. Instead, he clicked on his com. link and murmured, : _:Kup? Are you there?::_

 _::What’s up Hatchet? We are still fishin’ for Cons:_ : said the mech over the line, a tint of irritation in his voice likely derived from Prowl's company.

Tilting his head, still watching Blue’s back as the kid ran down the hall, the medic’s helm shifted for a moment in surprise as he watched that back plating shift slightly. He couldn’t help but notice that the kid’s form seemed a bulkier in his upper back as if his form was trying to carry more weight. His door wings also seemed restrained against the same plating. What was up with that plating? It seem ill-placed. Also were his wings bothering him? Was it growing pains? Either way, it was detrimental to a Praxian's balance to hold his wings that way.

Or maybe a glitch.

Ratchet frowned.

He did not want to think about that for a moment. The kid was getting an upgrade regardless after he stripped those Cons. Turning his attention back to Kup, he replied, : _:Bluestreak refused to come in for a checkup. I need to assess his … needs:_ :

Kup sighed, grunting, _::Sorry Ratchet. Thought the kid wouldn’t be so troublesome and that he could do that on his lonesome. When I get back, I’ll set ‘im straight::_

_::See that you do, Kup. Happy fishing.::_

_::See yah soon, Ratchet. Though I can’t promise to bring Prowl back in one piece. Slagger’s getting on my nerves. He keeps acting like I’m not good enough for little Blue. Well, I’ll be setting him straight::_ grumbled the green mech before he replied, _::Signing off::_

Ratchet, despite his concern for Bluestreak, chuckled. Perhaps the gnarly old mech could get some answers out of the stoic Second and why he didn’t take Bluestreak. He wanted Bluestreak. There was no doubt in Ratchet’s CPU, yet he hadn’t said a thing.

Not one word.

…

Blue slowed his pace as he got closer to the base’s exit, trying to calm his spark. He felt so frightened right now that he was about to lose his last intake. He still didn’t know how he had managed to get back to the base after begging Barricade for help and had not ended up running down the hall with the scorpion-bot in his arms. After all, Barricade had agreed. Though, he gave the condition that Bluestreak had to do everything he said. The youth, feeling as if he was murdering his Prime, had wanted to say no and stepped back like a scared sparkling.

Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to state that he never wanted the drone to begin with … He couldn't let it die. He could _not_.

He could not abandon a part of his spark. The bond had grown without him even knowing it.

So, with a trembling EM field, optics shivering, Bluestreak agreed that he would give Barricade anything that would not harm the Autobots. Food, evasion information, equipment, anything within reason. Just as long as he didn’t endanger the ones he cared about and saved Scorponok.

Frowning at the loophole in Bluestreak's demand, Barricade still agreed.

It had seemed almost too easy, but Bluestreak had no doubt that Barricade was probably starving. A mech could only survive so long off of solar energy and gasoline before their systems started to degrade, especially if he was injured and Barricade _had been_ injured. His systems were likely cannibalizing metal from other systems.

So, now that most of the bots were off seeing humans or on other business, it was time for him to take his drone for help. He hadn’t even wanted to wait one night to get his drone to Barricade, but the black mech refused for this to be rushed. He stated that if they weren’t careful, the drone would be found out and killed anyway… so he had to remain calm and come tomorrow, folding the scorpion-bot into his compartment. Then, and only then, he would see what he could do.

Bluestreak had stated he didn’t have a compartment and Barricade had laughed, murmuring that if he didn’t yet… he would.

Despite being bothered by that, Bluestreak had said he would find another way. A moving trailer or something if he had to, but in the end, as if on instinct, he found himself popping is trunk. His back seats had even folded away and though he had to be half transformed, he was able to get the drone into his form. His tires had sagged under the weight yet he felt no pain in the added stress to his frame. It was as if his body had slowly been preparing for the strain of such an added weight.

Currently driving down the road now, Blue tried not to let the last few groons bother him. He tried not to think of how his body was changing right under his armor… and how he prayed no one would notice. In fact, he was so deep in his thoughts and how he might end up looking like Blackout, that he nearly sideswiped an RV when Barricade chimed over the com link.

_::You weren’t followed, where you?::_

Tire’s squealing, engine skipping a beat, the gunner stiffened as another heavier engine roared and came up next to him on the highway, a slightly maimed enforcer in his side mirror. The youth couldn’t help but note that the Con looked a little healthier though, probably from the energon Bluestreak had offered as a sign of peace.

Hating himself for giving a Con anything, Bluestreak begged, _::He’s in my trunk. What now?::_

The cop car slowed down a little as if to look at the trunk and then chuckled softly, purring, _::I thought you didn’t have a place to put him.::_

Pride stinging, Bluestreak murmured back like a chided sparkling, : _:I didn’t know I had room, alright.::_

Snorting, the fake officer turned on his lights and growled, _::Follow me, youngling. Let’s see what’s wrong with the slagger.::_

Bluestreak wanted to break away, to end this charade, but instead he found his engine roaring to pick up speed. Silently, he was hoping to Primus that the little drone hadn’t died in his trunk though if the scorpion-bot had … he was sure he would have noticed. He was sure he would have at least started weeping and pulled over to the side of the road, staying there until he forgot how to feel.

How exactly was one supposed to react when a part of their spark offlined anyway?

…

It only took a few minutes to get to a barren location. Barricade’s base of operations was a highway gas station that had closed when an interstate had been put in up the highway.

The black cop car drove smoothly behind the building over weed devoured gravel, the rocks shifting under his weight. The place was long since abandoned, old signs fading and showing that this place had once been servicing gas and oil. Jack's Wheels was what the fading signs proclaimed.

Bluestreak, only taking a moment to stare at the dirt covered windows, followed after the Con reluctantly before his alt form stalled. Nervously, he watched the enforcer transform in a fury of shifting parts before the older mech walked to the garage door. The enforcer then stuck his large fingers under the door and into the gravel, lifting while old hinges squealed like rusty banshees.

Then, staring at the youth behind him, Barricade growled, “You going to sit there all day? Get inside, unless you would rather have me inspect and try to make repairs here in the dirt?”

Getting low on his tires, deciding that he rather disliked Barricade more for his bossy attitude than being a Con, Bluestreak drove forward slowly and parked in the dusty building. He nearly jumped out of his armor when he felt a large hand slide against his trunk.

Roaring forward, nearly hitting into an old tool chest in reaction, the Con jumped back as Blue barked at the invasion of space, “Don’t touch me!”

Shaking his helm, crossing his arms, the Con growled in response, “Your aft is not that good looking, youngling. I was trying to get you to pop your trunk.”

Sinking low on his tires, the youngling whispered, “You could have asked.”

Sighing, feeling exposed and vulnerable, a part of him wondering if maybe Ratchet would help him if he ran away from Cade, Bluestreak popped his trunk. He tried not to shiver as he listened to heavy peds on the old concrete, one hand being placed on the side of his open trunk. He heard a tisking, the black mech mumbling, “What a pathetic state you are in. Blackout would have had a fit.”

Then, turning his helm, he barked, “Frenzy clean off some space. Let’s have a look at him.”

Bluestreak nearly bulked again as a grey blur came out of a nearby office, throwing what looked like a twenty year old nudy calendar in the air. The small drone then dashed passed the youngling’s hood, sliding on the concrete as he jumped onto a nearby table. Frenzy, the grey blur, looked at all the parts there for a moment before he took his arm and pushed the collection of items onto the floor in a parade of dust and heavy clinking noises.

The youngling cringed at every clunk and nearly bulked his entire frame when Barricade reached inside his trunk, pulling the drone out slowly. Then, with a grunt, Barricade threw the larger drone over his shoulder and walked to the table, half dropping the mass of metal on the bench. Frenzy was a blur of metal after that. He was far more medically capable of the two and immediately jacked into the scorpion-bot, the larger drone's tail swinging off the table like a dead limb.

Blue took this time to transform, wondering how lucky Barricade must have been to find a garage they both could stand in as he wrung his hands together like a nervous father outside of a delivery room.

He nearly jumped out of his plating when Frenzy swore something and Barricade turned around barking, his optics glowing a hard red. “Stupid youngling! H-how could you be so-so _glitched_ that you didn’t even know how to … ugh! Frag, I don’t have time to punish you. Get on your knees!”

Without missing a beat, the elder mech then picked up the larger drone and headed towards a cowering Bluestreak, Frenzy running up Barricade’s moving limbs to perch himself on the enforcer’s shoulder.

The gunner, taking a step back, was terrified with the rage coming off of Barricade's EM field. Even Frenzy looked ready to maul him. Frag, this was a stupid, stupid, stupid idea! He didn't want to leave Scorponok, but maybe he should run.

Barricade, seeming to catch into the youngling's mindset, growled, “Don't you dare run. I will catch you and I will make this so much worse.”

Plating pulling close … somehow the sniper was able to obey.

The enforcer, glad for the easy victory, got in the young-bot's face like he did with young cadets. Predictably, Bluestreak cringing back as if he was going to be hit. The enforcer merely growled though, the tone so low that it was almost a whisper, “ _On your knees_ _y_ ou stupid little fool before I put you there. You will do as I say if you want my help. Is that clear?”

Hands shaking, the Autobot nodded and added in a timid voice, “… Yes, sir.”

Wings shivering, trying to keep his leg’s from quivering, the younger bot walked to the middle of the garage and slowly knelt, getting onto his knees. Swallowing, just waiting for a strike to come, he placed his hands on the top of his knees and leaned his helm forward as he went stiff. There was only a moment of stillness before Barricade came behind him, the drone being placed down behind him. The mech’s hands were then suddenly on Blue’s shoulder’s which made him go stiff even though the touch was surprisingly warm and not as threatening as the voice had been moments ago.

“Calm down, youngling. I’m not going to strike you today. _Though I should_ for your lack of knowledge in drone care. Just relax your shoulder’s, let them droop, raise your door wings away from your body to give me more access.”

Blue did as he was told, listening to Frenzy say something before Barricade added, “The port was drilled into your back, yes? Seems like the safest vantage point for your model. Scorponok was never stupid.”

Unable to say anything, the Autobot merely nodded, his hands digging into his knees and he felt Barricade undress his back. “Must have healed well, I can’t even find it at first glance. Though lots of good energon does that. Now, let’s see … where is the mechanism to lift …”

Feeling a servo with sharp talons pulling gently on plate after plate on his armor was unnerving in itself, until the Con got right below the door wings where the port Scorponok had drilled was located. On instinct, the youth dropped his wings and tried to turn around while growling in defense, “Don’t touch!”

It was a normal reaction to any new drone carrier, to protect the port, so in reaction Barricade merely slapped the side of youngling’s helm. Bluestreak, surprised, nearly fell to the floor as his elder growled, “Ignore your instincts, youngling! You ignored them earlier given our drone’s state. So why not now?”

Blue’s optics dimmed, the youngling letting his wings drop in a depressed manner as he slung his head forward. It was true. He ignored all the programs. He was … afraid of them. So, without further argument, he held still only twitching slightly at the touches around the back port. He didn't even pull away when he heard a click … a metal covering sliding up.

Bluestreak swallowed as several unknown programs came online, his hands shaking in fear.

Tilting his head, looking at the new wiring and energon engorged lines, the Con felt angry again for a moment. He might be irritated with Frenzy most of the time, but he would have never, _never_ , let him go hungry, especially if he was this well fed. The port was basically just oozing processed energon knowing it had to feed the drone.

Idiot kid ignored his instincts, that much was the frag sure.

Growling in his throat, the black mech murmured, “Looks healed, but let’s check.”

Not feeling courteous though he knew how a new drone carrier would react, Barricade slide two finger’s under the thin metal seal that kept out particles and into the port to make sure that there wasn’t a blockage, hitting delicate and new wiring. This caused the youngling’s want to rise to his feet stall as the cruiser hit numerous sensors. Messages of pleasure, pain, sickness and multitude of other things nearly overwhelmed him.

The youngling was almost paralyzed by the prying hand, causing the youth to turn his helm and whimper, “W-what are you doing? P-please stop.”

Barricade chuckled, an aphotic chuckled as Frenzy leapt onto Blue’s back an spread the wings so the port hook-up was bared. The older mech then whispered, “It’s okay to scream the first time… new wiring can be so sensitive.”

Before the Autobot could even feel nervous or pull away and asked what Barricade meant by that, Bluestreak saw movement around Scorponok. He then felt something slam into his back right into the new port and its raw wires. The input of information and emotions made the grey mech arch before making him fall forwards on his hands and knees as his body was slammed with a gross mixture of pain, pleasure, data, need, hunger, love and voice. It took all that was in him not to collapse completely or release the contents of his tank. But, just as quickly as the rawness had come, it dulled into a throb. It only took him a moment to figure out what had been done as he felt Scorponok’s part of the bond, a display popping telling him of needed downloads for drone uplinks and energy amounts being transferred.

Blue shiver, barely noting that Barricade had added in a surprised tone, “Huh, you didn’t scream. Well, I bet you screamed like a bleeding little virgin the first time though. The drill fucking hurts for every drone, but the bigger the drone the worse it is. The growth of Frenzy’s holding chamber hurt more than the drilling uplink though, trust me. I couldn’t move for days.”

Offlining his optics, just auto accepting any files, the youngling rubbed his servos before asking, “A-and how is this helping Scorponok? Or are you just torturing me.”

Sighing, reaching for an oil drum though he knew that in a little bit he would have a fresh new cube of energon from the idiot kid, Barricade grumbled, “He was hungry so I made sure he was fed. Slagger almost starved to deactivation.”

Bluestreak, turning his helm to watch the black mech groan as he sat down against a pealing brick wall, choked, “B-but I gave him energon. H-he was taking his cubes!”

Chuckling, shaking his helm as he ripped off the metal lid, Barricade met the youngling’s gaze and growled, “Stupid kid… drones can’t process raw energon. Your systems do that for him. If he could feed himself he wouldn’t have picked a young and stupid master so desperately. He was starving when he forced himself onto you.”

Blue just continued to look at the other in horror.

“He would have starved without a master,” said Cade stoically. “So he chose you.”

Optics shivering, his voice almost a whisper, Bluestreak dared ask, “So I’m nothing but a meal to him for now and forever.”

Barricade’s optics grew a little softer and he said nothing to that. Instead, he just whispered he was going to recharge and he’d wake when the drone finally started to stir so he could check for any more problems. Frag, the kid was stupid. Stupid ignorant Autobots. They never understood drones.

Drones were symboits not freeloaders!

They were meant to take care of you and you took care of them in turn. If the youngling couldn't figure that out on his own. He didn't deserve to be told.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, Blue, you just made a deal with the devil. Though personally, I love Cade to death.


	9. Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bold: Cybertronian

Prowl’s chassis was puffed up, as usual. At least that was always what it looked like to Kup as he observed the younger mech on the ship’s deck, the ocean slamming against the military vessel's hull. He was a curious character, to say the least. Most would say he was a stoic, cold mech with no emotional attachments, but Kup knew better. He had raised a youngling with a persona much like Prowl's.. Sadly, the youngling in question was a mournfully old memory. Recalling it now, he remembered finding the youngling in the rubble, a few upgrades from being an adult much like Bluestreak. The youth was scavenging, bitter and angry. He would steal from any mech not wise enough to guard his back… be them Decepticon or an Autobot Officer.

That was how it had started off. Autobots would come into the base missing things. Energon, parts, maps … a toy or two. It had been a bit of luck, at least for Kup, that they had even caught the young thief at all. A scrimmage had taken place near some old ruins by the base, and there was a scream as the rubble came down. Not that most mechs noticed, dodging gunshots and all, but as a caretaker he knew a young mech’s cry when he heard it.

So, after the battle, in the energon and steaming metal they looked for an extra body. Sometime later they dug up a youngling, half-starved and full of spitfire.

Yet strangely stoic at times.

It took nearly a third of a vorn before the youngling started speaking and interacting in a proper manner with his saviors. The young mech, when asked, said that he remembered his name, but when his caretaker's abandoned him… they took his name with them. At least that was what the youth had proclaimed far too bitingly. Apparently, names carried power and he never wanted anyone to have that power over him again. The youngling had gone so far to even scrape his creators' names off of his helm.

It was a sad proclamation for a youngling and looking at Prowl he saw the youngling for a moment. _Runner_ was what the youth had named himself. Prowl was so much like Runner that it was haunting. Runner even twitched his door wings like Prowl was doing right now. In fact, Prowl’s entire form was held so much like Runner’s in was uncanny. Frag, Prowl even frowned like Runner. If he didn’t know that Prowl was far too old, Kup might have thought Runner and Prowl were one in the same.

Unfortunately, Runner, the poor thing, was already deactivated. Kup was sure. They had gotten separated in one of the mech’s first battles and … Kup’s spark still hurt thinking about it.

He was sure he would lose all of his younglings before this pit-forsaken war ended. It really wanted to take all of his younglings before taking him. How many bonds were ripped to shreds in his chassis? How many younglings would never snuggle with him again even if they were adults and no longer needed such attentions? How many would never be alive to ask him about bond-mates, sparkling creation and fraggen everything else a caretaker was expected to do in a youngling's long life?

His spark ached at the thought.

He didn’t want to count how many he had lost.

“ **What are you staring at, Kup?”**

Kup, who had unknowingly been staring at the higher officer the whole time, perked up and widened his optics. He quickly onlining and offlining his optics to try and reset his thoughts. It was a very Hot Rod like thing to do, but what could he say … all his youngling's rubbed off on him. So he merely answered in Cybertronian, “ **What**?”

Prowl, who had taken a few steps closer, twitched his wings in irritation. He again asked in a nearly emotionless tone, “ **Why are you staring at me? Does my form unsettle you or have I upset you unknowingly?”**

Frowning, silent for a moment, Kup said softly, “ **No, you just remind me of a younglin’ I knew.”** _And miss_ … _why do I keep losing younglings?_

Straightening his shoulders, Prowl tried to look unconcerned. Kup knew better though from his time with Runner. To read Praxians, you at to look at their door wings. Kup could tell by the slight twitches of the enforcer’s wings that he was frustrated.

“ **I understand though I would request that you stop,** ” said Prowl evenly in Cybertronian, though Kup continued to stare.

Prowl, ever patient, allowed him to stare even as the ship slowed. They were coming close to their destination, the military humans running around deck like so many little insects. Some of the men were probably the ones that had dropped the metallic bodies’ months ago as well as the newer NEST agents. Thankfully, none of them stared too much. Prowl, feeling slightly unnerved at the thought of pulling up corpses, transformed into vehicle mode and sat there. Some humans even jumping back at the sound of twisting gears.

Kup had scavenged the dead more times than he would like to admit, and he didn’t even twitch as the first submarines were dropped into the ocean’s cold embrace. He just stood there watching the humans run back and forth to their assigned stations like a finely tuned machine. Interesting creatures, easily frightened by fast movements and large sizes, yet they would overcome those twitches and beating little hearts to get the job done. They were brave little soldiers, ready to die for a war that wasn’t theirs yet they were barely the age of a sparkling.

Kup silently respected them, but he _was not_ going to make friends with any of them. He was not going to end up like Ironhide after that Annabelle incident.

So … many … animal … crackers.

Ratchet would still find one from time to time getting crunched by Ironhide’s twisting gears.

Kup twitched at the thought of human food getting in his gears and turned his attention to the enforcer. He almost laughed at the sight. Frag, he was so much like Runner that he swore they could have been brothers. Runner would do this all the time to pout, transforming into his alt mode so no one would see the twitching of his wings or the emote of his facial features. His tires told the tale though … and Kup could only shake his helm as he chuckled.

Prowl was just a younglin’ compared to him anyway.

“ **What’s bothering you, Prowl? You can talk about it instead of brooding you know?** ” said Kup, reaching into a subspace. He needed a cy-gar because this was going to be one of _those_ conversations. Getting Runner to open up made him want to beat his helm against a wall so why would Prowl be any different? Maybe it was a Praxian thing?

Prowl, sinking lower on his tires, replied, “ **I am not brooding**.”

Laughing as he brought the cy-gar to his mouth, Kup continued, **“I took care of a kid just like your Prowl. You’re brooding and we ain't going anywhere. In fact, it might be long enough that you might find yourself swimming back if you keep this up.”**

“ **Are you threatening me?”** said Prowl, his EM field sizzling in a threatening manner before it was pulled back towards his frame.

“ **No, I’m just making a statement,”** said Kup as he took a puff of his cy-gar, noting that a few humans would slow down to stare before heading back to their posts. **“Now, what’s your problem with me?”**

Prowl, probably glaring in alt mode, twitched on his tires before he huffed, **“My only problem with you is your disrespect for authority.”**

“ **I’m older than you. I’ve earned the right to pick at you younglings,”** said Kup, smiling coyly like he knew a joke no one else did.

Transforming quicker than a flash, his door wings twitching and his face actually showing an expression of irritation, the officer barked, “ **I’m not a youngling**!

Chuckling, loving that he had actually riled up the officer, he grumbled, “ **Compared to me you are**.”

Hands becoming tight fists, optics glowing almost a harsh whit, Prowl tried to keep his cool. “ **You will stop with this behavior immediately. It is unprofessional, and I am your superior**.”

Giving the younger mech almost a bored look, not the least bit threatened, Kup took another puff. “ **Well, you lock your emotions up, I had to get them out of you somehow. So, like a youngling I had in the past, I picked at you until you looked me in the optic and exposed yourself … I can see you now Prowl. I can see you. Now tell me what I’m seeing.”**

Prowl, wings dropping as his optics dimmed, shook his helm as if confused. “ **Of course you can see me. I am standing right in front of you.”**

Glaring, lip twitching, the elder mech all but barked **, “I see that you have feelings, Prowl! That’s what I’m saying! I see your silent glares and how your wings dip when you think yourself alone, and how you go out of your way to watch Bluestreak. Is this about my request to Optimus to be Blue’s caretaker?! I’m sick of your brooding! If you wanted him you should have asked for him!”**

Door wings going high, the first show of rage that Kup had truly seen from the enforcer, Prowl whispered darkly, a tone that even some of the humans froze over even though they were speaking Cybertronian, **“I did want him! I wanted to take care of him so badly … but I couldn’t.”**

Prowl seemed to wilt, seemed tired and old for a moment. It was the look of an old broken spark, sunken and forgotten like dead leaves at the bottom of a lake.

Sighing, features becoming softer, Kup asked in almost a whisper, “ **Then** **why not? Why didn’t you take him? He’s been alone for so long. You must have had enough spark to see that he was in pain.”**

Optics soft, old memories rising up like flood waters from the ground, Prowl’s words were supple like memories shifting through a mirror. **“I did… I knew. I saw it every time I walked past him. But I couldn’t … he looked so much like** _ **him**_ **out of the corner of my optics and I couldn’t fail Bluestreak like I had failed** _ **him**_ **… He deactivated because of my foolishness.”**

Silent for a moment, Prowl continued, pain dripping through his EM field even though he was trying to keep it tucked against his form. **“I can’t fail him the way I failed my brother.”**

Puzzle pieces finally coming together, a sad picture was made complete for the old timer. Prowl was a lonely heartbroken spark full of shame and pain, scarred like so many sparks in this war.

Kup had to look away, his lips tight. It wasn’t his place to dig open old graves, but it would be cruel to not at least offer flowers in the form of kind words.

Shifting nearer to the officer, voice accepting, Kup replied, **“I understand, and I didn’t mean to pry …”**

Silent for a klick more, the green mech decided on a course of action.

“ **Prowl? Do you want to recharge with me on the trip back? You are still a younglin’ to me no matter your status, and there’s no shame in admitting you need a little comfort while you recharge,”** said Kup, staring at Prowl though the enforcer was making a real show of watching the moving cranes, the bodies having been located in the depths.

Blinking his optics, words soft, Prowl replied, **“Stop calling me a youngling. It would be unprofessional not to mention confusing for the humans on board if they found us snuggled together in root mode as we fell in recharge. I am not so weak sparked that I need comfort like that anymore.”**

Finally giving in, feeling like the whole conversation had been for naught, Kup added, **“There is nothing wrong with having emotions and wanting comfort. It is a characteristic of Autobots to want to give and take comfort from each other’s sparks. As an Autobot, you should already know that.”**

Then turning, walking over to the commotion with the moving cranes, he almost didn’t hear Prowl whisper, **“It is an Autobot thing to do, Kup. You are correct. I have not shared a berth with anyone for any purpose in a long time … though … I wouldn’t mind recharging in alt mode next to you this evening. Not at all.”**

Looking at Prowl, feeling a little happier then when he had started the conversation, Kup merely nodded in reply. Prowl really did need more bonds because Kup was quite sure the enforcer didn’t have any. And a quiet mech like that … he needed more.

…

Bluestreak shifted on his knees. This position was uncomfortable and he was starting to feel a little wheezy. Scorponok was taking a lot out of him. He wasn’t used to being drained of energy this quickly and his systems were starting to feel exhausted… or maybe it was these new programs.

Personally, part of him didn’t want to know, but that didn’t stop him from groaning and leaning forward, placing his helm on the cool concrete.

_Would this ever end?_

Barricade, who had raided Blue’s energon stash of his own accord while telling Bluestreak not to move, roused slightly from his soft recharge. Yawning, or the equivalent of it as he sucked air into his vents to jump start his systems, Barricade onlined his optics and stared at the moaning youngling for a moment. Grumbling, he then sent a quick command to Frenzy and the little bot popped out of his compartment in a heartbeat though the little drone took the time to flip his partner the bird. Frenzy didn't like being awaken early, but he still made his way over the dizzy Autobot regardless.

Chatting to himself, the drone climbed up the youngling’s still form and up to the Autobot’s helm. With thin fingers he placed a hand on Blue’s helm and patted it for a moment to get the bot to react. When he got nothing substantial, he crawled down to Scorponok and placed his helm on top of the Scorpion-bot as if looking for a heartbeat. A few moments later, tisking at the ravenous drone, he clicked back to Barricade whom could barely keep his own red optics online.

Groaning, not surprised with Frenzy’s diagnosis at all, he slowly got to his peds and circled the youngling before he stopped at Blue’s back, asking, “Auto-brat, you feeling light headed or do you’re limbs feel tingly?”

Moaning into the concrete, helm so fuzzy that he was starting to feel faint, he admitted, “Yes.”

“Greedy little parasite,” grumbled Barricade as he knelt by the drone, trying to decide if he was just going to rip the tail out or see if he could wake the drone. Well, he had been roused from his sleep, why should the drone get a gentle wake-up at all? Besides, he didn’t want that stinger in his face if the drone woke in battle mode. He was feeding properly for the first time so his systems might be on guard for his new host.

Reaching for some wires at the base of the tail and spinal column, Barricade started pinching the tubing there. It would be painful, no doubt, drones were always very protective of the limb that allowed them to feed. It was of little surprise that the reaction was instantaneous. The tail was ripped from the youngling’s back port causing the youth to scream in pain and collapse on the cement while the scorpion-bot came fully online, legs spread and tail ready to strike as processed energon dripped from the tip.

For a moment there was silence, stillness before a storm as Scorponok’s system assessed the threat and his current location as well as … his energon levels.

Was that a cry from his master?

Battle mode still on high guard he pressed into the bond and found Bluestreak panicking. He immediately turned his many optics to see what was wrong. Bluestreak had energon leaking down his back, staining his grey armor an unsightly color. From the looks of it, it was near the port so it was probably a rough release though pulling it out would have been more destructive. Not that Blue probably knew or cared about the latter fact. He was in agony, if the bond was any indication as well as the blubbering, but such pain should be expected from new wiring.

The scorpion-bot, wanting to tell his host to remain calm, pressed into the bond, especially with the way the young mech was choking in the dirty cement. Slowly backing up towards the young bot, he turned his optics to the only threat in the room: Barricade.

Slagger. He didn’t trust him, but he knew that Barricade spoiled Frenzy. That still didn’t answer why he was in this strange building with Barricade and Frenzy, his master’s drone-port damaged. Finally getting to his youngling, he started clicking, pressing into the bond to try and get some answers. Bluestreak merely shivered, fingers digging into the cement.

Watching Scorponok for a moment, knowing all too well that there was a lot of bond communication going on and failing from Scorponok’s ever growing agitation, Barricade came closer. Not close enough to be impaled, he knew better, but he got close enough to get his tone across and to try and see that wound a little better. “Don’t give me that accusing look, bug. I didn’t do that to him. I didn’t bring you here. Your young master came to me for help… and you gave him that wound.”

Part of him wanted to scold the young master for his stupidity, but Scorponok resisted. If it wasn’t for Barricade … he would probably be dead. Getting lower on his legs, Scorponok could only hiss and click away his distaste.

Chuckling darkly to himself, loving how vulnerable these two were, Scorponok never having to play the role of partial caretaker with a youngling, Barricade replied, “You overfed. That’s why he’s not answering. The port wound looks minor if it doesn’t get infected. I had to force you to let go because you might have seriously hurt him if I had allowed this to continue. A young drone carrier can’t take that kind of stress... Though this could have been ignored if you had just taken what you wanted and fed before you started starving. Then again … younglings can be very flighty, can’t they?”

Loving how Scorponok seemed to shift uneasily from side to side, nervous and frightened for his forming bond, Barricade shook his head. It was pathetic for a Decepticon to be so sensitive.

Sneering, Barricade allowed his distaste to be known. “You are pathetic, bug. A true drone would have allowed himself to starve then attach himself to an Autobot. It’s softened your spark.”

The scorpion drone whined in irritation, but did not back down from his youngling as Barricade took another step forward.

“You’re too soft,” continued the enforcer. “Now let’s wake up the brat. Hopefully, he has some spare energon in his sub space otherwise I don’t know if he will be able to wake up for that matter get back to his base. We might have to call the Autobots if not. And if we have to do that … I have no idea what kind of lie he will come up with. But that’s his problem, isn’t it?”

Chuckling, he added, “The absurdity of it... an Autobot practicing deception. He must be catching it from you, Scorpy.”

Scorponok glared, clearly not amused.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, a short chapter but we get some plot movement. Sorry, not much of a cliffhanger this chapter. I'll try harder next time. X3


	10. Like Money in the Desert

“Primus, you look pathetic,” said Barricade as he watched Bluestreak sit in the sun, wings dipped and his head pointed up at the golden orb, his optics offline. Feeding Scorponok had really taken a lot out of the younger mech. Not that Barricade was surprised. Nearly starving a drone has its punishments. 

Slowly titling his head to the older bot, the youngling grumbled, “Well, if you hadn't taken all of my energon and drank it … I might have other ways of collecting energy. Not all of that energon was yours to take.”

Barricade chuckled at the bitterness in the gunner’s voice. So, the kid might have been an Autobot but he was like any other youngling: take his energon away and he gets cranky.

Leaning against the abandon gas station wall that he was kind of calling home, enjoying the warm sun on his black form, Barricade chuckled, “Well, I can call the Autobots if you don't think you can make it home … though I don't know how you would explain my presence to them? Or your newest _tagalong_.”

Bluestreak frowned for a moment, saying nothing though a part of him instinctively wanted to protect his drone's honor.

Barricade, still sitting there in a relaxed position, pretended to look at his claws before he murmured, “So, I gotta know… why did you come to me? I'm a Con. Why didn’t you just tell your medic? I’m sure he would have been able to figure it out and plugged the little slagger in.”

Bluestreak, too tired to even be upset, allowed a chirping and happy Scorponok to rub against his leg. The drone was once again leaving another treasure he had found out in the barren landscape. He accepted the rusted shovel and placed it to the side with his pile of growing stuff. He couldn't help but grumble, “I think we both know why I did it, Barricade … only Cons have drones… only Cons enslave sentient beings.”

The youngling then wilted as he watched Scorponok wander off, looking guilty and completely pathetic and far too tired to even cry about it. Barricade merely stared for a moment, the gears ticking as it took all his restraint not to smile, his fingers twitching at the possibilities.

Oh… oh… this was too good.

He really had the youngling in the palm of his hand, for his silence… for his services. Oh, this was going to be wonderful. He might even be able to find a way off of this hell-rock as well.

“Well, its only enslavement if you choose to look at it that way,” finally replied Barricade. “Yes, they may have a spark, but they were not built like you and I. Autobots might think of it as enslavement, but we consider it a partnership.”

“And partners attack you and drill holes in your back?” said Bluestreak bitterly, his lack of energy and the fact that Barricade had somehow consumed all of the energon already (which he rather doubted) swaying his attitude and making him far blunter.

Barricade merely grinned toothily, shrugging, “So it was a rocky introduction. Could have been worse … he could have killed you. Youngling's spark sometimes can’t handle it.”

Bluestreak bared his denta slightly as a hand came up to his chest. He was painfully reminded of something very unpleasant before he ran off to save his drone: Ratchet wanted to do an examination and upgrade. Frag, frag. Ugh, could the day get any worse? Moaning, placing his face in his hands, Bluestreak vaguely wished he had a self-destruction button located somewhere so he could just end it.

“Ugh, I just remembered. I am in so much trouble.”

Looking at the other, wondering if he should care or not, Barricade joked, “How could you possibly get into more trouble? You are half Con and I’m pretty sure Scorpy isn’t potty trained … Frenzy sure isn’t.”

Barricade then tilted his head just in time to ignore a can of bolts being thrown at his head, Frenzy throwing a number of insults his way which Barricade merely chuckled about.

“I ignored Ratchet … who wants to give me an examination for an upgrade,” said Bluestreak, a part of him not even knowing why he was telling his _enemy_ these things. Perhaps it was the exhaustion … or maybe it was because now he had someone to share one of his biggest secrets with. He had never been very good about keeping his mouth shut and hiding things really bothered him internally.

Rolling his optics, the Con grumbled, “Oh, repairs from a _real_ medic. Dreadful, I'm sure. Try putting your partner together without even proper parts. You have no idea how many shops I raided to fix Frenzy.”

Door wings drooping, the youth accepting another random item from his drone which appeared to be a cow bone or some other large animal bone. Briefly, the youth wondered if he should tell the other about his fear of medical surgeries. True, Barricade had done nothing but help him even if it was belligerently, but then again he was basically Barricade's meal ticket and they both knew it. He was getting entirely too friendly though. Barricade was his enemy and yet, for some reason, he really reminded him of Prowl. Too bad Prowl wasn't this easy to talk to. He was just so worried about disappointing Prowl, but as for Barricade … part of him didn't care what the Con thought. He didn't know if it was because the other was a Con or because, strangely, the black mech was pretty laid back when not maiming people.

“You don't understand. They might notice that I now have programs for Scorponok … and what of my form? I can now carry him. What else has changed that I haven't noticed,” said Bluestreak, realizing that was only a half truth. Yes, it was a valid fear, but he was far more afraid of being cut up ...for spare parts. The scorpion-bot merely churred feeling his discomfort before dropping what looked like a bag full of money before he wandered back off into the desert again.

Barricade, eyeing the pile of junk with a little more curiosity, thought of the youngling's comment. An upgrade could seriously hinder his plans. There had to be a way to keep the kid under wraps until he got off of the hell rock. The youngling was kind of growing on him and, even though he was a bit of a pushover, Barricade could just see the little gunner as a partner in crime. He might even make a fair Decepticon. It wouldn't have been the first Autobot to turn. Knockout's partner, Breakdown, had been an Auto-slagger once. Why couldn't the kid trade sides? The death of Megatron had hardly ended the war.

His spark warming to the idea of not traveling through space alone, the mech wondered how to go about convincing the Autobot to leave his brothers in arms. He had never been one much for recruitment. He was more a _kill-and-ask-questions-later_ kind of mech, but he already had the youth in the palm of his hands. Fear was always a good motivator for change.

Smiling, liking the idea the more he dwelt on it, the black mech mumbled, “It takes time for any huge changes to occur, but if you really want to keep your aft safe, I do have one idea for you.”

Bluestreak, with those optics that so much reminded Barricade of a long lost bond he had all but tried to extinguish, gave his elder a hungry look. The Con was about to make his first offer when the two mechs and two droids jumped, a sudden transmission floating over Bluestreak's speakers.

“Autobot Bluestreak: please respond, kid. It’s your caretaker, kid. I'm back and I need you back at base. Please respond.”

Bluestreak, wings dipping, cringed at the thought of Kup being back already from whatever mission he had gone on with Prowl. He doubted the older mech would let him just run away from an examination. Should he stay hidden then? He didn't want to be ripped up again and left to bleed out. Should he run away? But he had so much now at the base. He had Kup, and Prowl always took care of him, but now with Scorponok.

... Maybe he could stay with Barricade? But did he really want that? He didn't completely hate Cade so far, but what about Prowl or the others?

“Hey, kid?” Bluestreak nearly jumped out of his armor, Barricade's form now in front of him and glaring down at him. “If you don’t answer they are bound to come looking for you and I don't know about you … but I like this place. I don't want to have to find a new base.”

“But what about the upgrades Ratchet wants?” said Bluestreak, fear in his voice. He knew there would be nightmares tonight even if he did manage to convince Ratchet to put off an examination.

“You're a smooth talker,” said Barricade as Scorponok dropped off what looked like a stained machete, the two mechs looking at the collection of loot in a combination of realization, horror, and humor. Well, humor and Barricade's part, especially when Frenzy started digging through the pile cackling madly. “Besides, last time I checked you guys landed here without a ship so I doubt the medic has everything he needs for an upgrade. He probably just wants to examine you for wear or to see if you spark is being affected by the strain of an outdated system. Just keep him from the systems on your back and you should be fine, especially if the drone coding has integrated correctly.”

Bluestreak, suddenly feeling a little calmer, slowly got to his feet. Barricade surprisingly grabbing one of his arms to keep him standing.

“Yeah, you are right. Ratchet is always grumbling about not having one thing or the other,” said the youngling. “Thank you, Barricade.”

Barricade, a bit surprised by the sincerity in the youth's voice, merely nodded, “Yeah, you are welcome. Runt. Now, I really like this joint so I might stick around for a while, pull some fleshies over on the interstate. Come to me if you can remain hidden … Otherwise, forget my name.”

Bluestreak, noting that the mech's tone didn't match his words in harshness, merely nodded as he nearly stumbled over the _treasures_ the scorpion-bot had dug up for him, a thought creeping up from the darkest parts of him. If worst came to worst he could leave with Cade. At least he wouldn't be wandering in the darkness of space alone. It was a terrible fate to be alone. And, while transforming, Bluestreak found himself pitying the other mech. Barricade was alone. All alone. His comrades dead.

Then and there, a new thought struck him. Perhaps if he could convince Barricade to change sides, the Autobots would see that drones weren’t so bad. Then, in time, perhaps he could reveal his own. Though, watching Frenzy throw money around from some bags in the pile, that wasn't going to be easy.

Liking the idea a lot more than some of the other ones he had had, Bluestreak dwelt on the black mech, wondering what route would be best. Then, nodding goodbye, he transformed and drove off, Scorponok diving below the surface and following after. Then, turning on his comm., deciding to deal with one problem at a time, the youth replied, “This is Bluestreak. Just out for a drive. I'm coming back to base now.”

Static playing for a moment, Bluestreak nearly cringed when his caretaker joked, “A joy ride, huh? Now, kid, it sounds more like you are hiding from the Hatchet. Ironhide has tried that too. It doesn't work. He'll hunt you down like the dog you are. Now, get your aft back to base. It’s time for a talk.”

Bluestreak, his pace slow, didn't know if it was because of his energon levels or because he really, really, wasn't looking forward to going home.

Barricade, meanwhile, stood there watching the cloud of dust follow after the youngling before he got back onto the highway.

Never one for sentiments, but unable to shake the feeling, he grumbled to Frenzy, “Despite being an idiot and an Auto-brat, I like him … he reminds me of brother.”

“Y-your tt-tratior brother,” cackled Frenzy, knowing the tale of woe all too well. “D-ddont get to c-close Cade. E-eeveryone you g-get close to a-abandons and betrays y-you in the eee-end.”

Looking down at the drone, recalling his brother who had left him to fend for himself and the caretaker who would later do the same, he nodded. He liked the kid, but perhaps it was best not to get too attached.

“He might make a good Decepticon though. Sniping is what some would consider a cheaters weapon after all,” said Barricade, still not dismissing the youngling entirely.

Frenzy cocked his head as he stopped counting the money in the bags, tapping a human femur to his chin as he thought about it. The drone grumbled back, “H-he might just be a coward t-though, b-but I-I see your p-ppppoint.”

Then, suddenly giggling madly, tossing a shovel to the side, the drone pulled some slightly bloodied money out of one of the dug up bags and turned to his partner, the bond rippling with a breed of smugness. “So, wanna go cause some hell?”

Barricade, smiling only for a moment before he transformed in a rush of parts, threw his door open and chuckled, “Sounds like a good time to me.”

He might have started to develop a soft spot for the kid, but he was still a Decepticon after all.

…

Meanwhile, back at the Autobot base, Prowl watched as Ratchet wandered over the ocean stained corpses that had just been dragged inside from the cargo jets, mumbling to himself from time to time. Prowl, despite himself, could not keep his wings from twitching at the thought that Bluestreak had just run off like that. Ratchet had really wanted to do an examination before he got the bodies so he could have an idea of what he needed. Unfortunately, it seemed that Ironhide had unknowingly gained a competitor when it came to pissing off the Hatchet. Running away only made it worse.

Prowl sighed through his vents at the thought that it was going to take even longer to start the upgrades for the much-needing youngling. Why didn't he understand that Ratchet wasn't trying to hurt him?

Offlining his optics, Prowl tried to comfort himself with the thought that Kup said he would be dealing with the issue. He had no doubt that Kup would get the youth to sit still for an examination, the sooner the better. Prowl just _knew_ something was wrong with Bluestreak. When he had come back from the desert he had been acting odd and pained. Now he was consuming twice as much energon and he seemed twitchy despite now having a caretaker. Something was wrong. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

Sighing, wondering if he could ask Kup to pry now that the two of them had a better understanding, Prowl was about to go over and help the medic with a rough inventory, when suddenly his communication systems popped up. It was requesting clearance from a superior … and it was a deep space transmission.

Was it the coming ship? No, the ship was too small and whose ID was … Ugh, frag, not him.

Answering the transmission, knowing that Optimus was busy meeting one human delegate or the other right now, he opened his communication line. It was obviously strained from the distance, but still working. They must have been out there, though still closer than the other arriving ship since it was a live feed.

“This is Second in Command, Autobot Prowl. Report.”

There was a moment of static and then a cocky tone replied, “Ah Prowl, almost as much fun as Ultra Magnus.”

Nodding, noting vaguely that Ratchet had stopped his inventory and was listening carefully, Prowl replied, “Please reply with your designation and, if not high security, your mission.”

A sigh escaped the mech and then bitterly, no fan of taking orders, the mech replied blandly, “Autobot Crosshairs and Autobot Blades reporting. We were sent out to pick up a _straggler_.”

“A straggler,” said Prowl, noting that Ratchet was now standing next to him, listening to the feed. “What do you mean?”

“I caught me a little run away delinquent. Delinquents if you count his sidekick,” grumbled Crosshairs, obviously hating the mission from the start.

“Who?” said Prowl curiously. If it was an Autobot traitor, they didn't exactly have a brig yet to deal with the extra bodies.

“Oh, just a little smart mouth called Hot Rod and his tag-along, Springer. Springer didn't put up a fight, but the kid acted like I was taking him to an executioner,” said Crosshairs, chuckling at the thought.

Prowl ignored the others lack of sensitivity when it came to what was obviously just a scared youngling, but then again a deserter wasn't about to get away Scott-free either. Even if he was young, Hot Rod still deserved an ample punishment. A punishment Prowl would probably have to decide because Optimus likely would try to be too lenient. The commander always was too lenient when it came to younglings.

“When can we expect you and the deserters?” said Prowl, already trying to think where they could set up a quick brig and what parts Ratchet could get from dismantling two sets of military weapons.

“Give us two weeks … unless the kid escapes again,” said Blades, finally piping up in the ship's communication.

“Good, alert me when you are closer to Earth, the third planet from the star, and I will give you a nearby landing point. Prowl out,” finished the Second, his mind now trying to recall what would be ample punishment for desertion and yet fairly lenient for two younglings.

Ratchet though was thinking something entirely different, his vents huffing, “Frag, do you think Kup can handle two younglings? Most caretakers can only deal with one at a time.”

Prowl, thoughts freezing, couldn't keep his face from taking on a downtrodden expression, his voice almost accepting that it would be Bluestreak that would be placed back on the way side. “No. No ... I doubt he can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized I had this chapter done ages ago. I feel terrible. 
> 
> Anyway, I told you we would come back around to Hot Rod and why he deserted Kup. Anyway, I obviously loved mouthy Crosshairs from the Bay-movies, so he got thrown in here. Next chapter’s about Hot Rot for the most part. Later.


End file.
